Butterfly Photographs
by Ringshadow
Summary: Intrepid rescues, sappy romance, and nekked pictures. Can it get any better? Complete
1. Chapter 1

Butterfly Photographs

_Author's note: This story isn't meant to have a lot of hefty action. Expect tongue-in-cheek humor, lots of busty beautiful IC girls, hotrods, and other happy normal-life randomness. I'm writing it because it's fun. Enjoy, and I hope you laugh._

Chapter One: Intrepid Rescues

Peppy sighed, leaning on the counter of his bathroom and staring in the mirror as if he had the will to change what he saw. Oh, he saw something different then six months ago, sure. Seeing himself on television had been more then enough. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had dessert, or something other then a light beer. He'd been busting his ass in the gym daily, counting calories, changed his lifestyle completely. And here's what it came down to.

Twenty pounds that would not leave him.

Oh, his doctor was happy. Freakin' ecstatic. He'd stripped off all the dangerous weight in a time that borderlined fanatical, and he had to admit he was somewhat content with the results. The muscle definition of his earlier years had returned, he wasn't Fox or Falco, but he felt he was edging back toward being the military powerhouse he'd once been.

Except for these freaking twenty pounds that he couldn't be rid of. His weight hadn't changed an ounce in two weeks. His doctor had said he may never get rid of that weight, but he was out of danger for heart attacks and the like: his blood pressure was nominal, as was his cholesterol and everything else of importance. But stuck overweight? Not if he had anything to do with it. He huffed in annoyance, pulling a shirt on and slinging his exercise bag over his shoulder.

He paused at usual in the indoor garage, looking at the covered car next to the one he drove and renewing the vows, made daily and ignored, that he'd fix it, get it back to the glory it was before he'd plowed it headlong into a telephone pole. He'd lived without a scratch… the car had been gored, bumper and engine shot, and on his paycheck it had been towed back to his building and covered, left as a reliquary. He shook his head wearily, sliding into his sedan with a huff and starting it, telling himself to quit lingering on the past. You couldn't change it after all. Move on.

Half an hour later, he had parked behind the gym, in the secluded parking lot the gym's owner had told him about. There was a main parking lot, but people who got pestered because of fame or other reasons were allowed to park in the back and enter through the back door. He'd been added to the list after the war, and he was grateful for it. He'd met an assortment of interesting folk as well. He climbed out of the car, and…

_Hand slapping across his face, cry caught in his throat, and fear, trapped with his back against his car, a young man with some pretty clear intent staring at him…_

Peppy staggered, catching the top edge of his car door and shaking his head, one hand to his temples. "Not me." He grumbled. "That wasn't me." So, what then? His ESP had fired off, what was it showing him? A flicker of past, future, now? He finally gained his balance and looked up and down the narrow back parking lot. Just one long parking row really, cars parked herringbone style, back ends toward each other. Well lit… but lots of obstacles to look around, and a lot of noise coming in from one of the main drags.

Ok. Go over the flash again. It had been a woman, a woman younger then him. The car he'd been trapped against… he couldn't put his finger on the color, but it was a roadster of some sort. The young man… mid twenties? Badger? Again, the ESP fuzziness… there'd been a truck behind him. A big… bright red truck?

Peppy looked up and down the parking lot again, and smiled. There were only two trucks, and only one red. He stuck his keys in his pocket and wandered up the way toward it, slowing his pace as he went, the track shoes hushing his step to nearly nothing. Once he was close, he heard the two voices, one feminine and upset, the other male, angry, but coaxing.

"Ahem." He leaned on the back edge of the truck, crossing his arms and taking in through his own eyes what'd he'd seen through the girls. The girl—mid twenties? Gorgeous—was trapped against the driver-side door of her baby-blue roadster, in exercise clothing, hands up to defend herself. She was struggling to put on a brave face, but obviously had no way to defend herself, her purse lay knocked away near the rear fender of the roadster.

The young man, indeed a badger, with the bulk of a bodybuilder, startled and looked at him, one arm leaned on the roadster next to the woman. "Just speaking to my girlfriend, old man, none of your business. Move on."

Peppy ignored him, looking past him at the girl, who stared back at him, shivering. "Miss? Are you all right?" When she didn't answer, just stood there shivering, he sighed, straightening from his lean. "I think you need to step away from her. Now."

"She's shy. Leave, old man, before you bite off more then you can chew." The badger had turned toward him fully now, and Peppy could see the gleam of steel in one of his hands. Butterfly knife, pocket knife. Something small, concealable.

Peppy shrugged, crossing his arms. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size, squirt? Slapping a girl, that's hardly polite." That was more then enough to make the badger lunge for him, and he sidestepped, grabbing the badger's lead arm in passing and letting his hands move automatically. The badger screamed, his knife dropping and clattering to the cement, and in the next move Peppy had him on his stomach on the ground, leaning one foot on the back of his neck. "I suggest in the future you consider who you pick fights with." He remarked scathingly, leaning more weight in until the badger protested about his ability to breathe, and then turning his eyes to the girl. "Miss. Are you all right?"

"I am now." She retrieved her purse, hugging it to her chest.

"Care to tell me what was going on?"

"He's been stalking me." She admitted. "I put a restraining order on him… but…"

"Restraining orders only work on law-abiding citizens." Peppy shrugged. "I'm glad I came along when I did."

She smiled and nodded, and he let himself stare for a moment. Gorgeous, not the right word, she was borderline beyond that term. Mid twenties, long hair. Raccoon? Build was wrong… ring-tailed raccoon, that was it, a relative of the more known version. "Should I call the cops?" She asked brightly, holding up an extremely cute flip phone from her purse.

"No, I will." Peppy dipped in his pocket for his own phone, hitting speeddial absently and listening to it ring through. "Hey. Tony!"

"Tyler, you bastard, you haven't called me since our last poker game!" The voice on the other side laughed.

"You took me for two hundred bucks, you jagoff! You really expect me to call you for social reasons anytime soon after that?" Noting the badger beginning to struggle, he leaned in harder, and said, "Keep doing that, kid, and I'll dislocate your other thumb."

Tony paused. "I heard that right?"

"Indeed. I have a bastard here who broke through his restraining order. Unlucky for him I was nearby and defanged him for a bit. Could you come get him?"

"Where you at?"

Peppy gave him directions and hung up, smiling at the girl. "So. What's your name?"

"Erin. Erin Mai." She replied, slowly edging up and offering her hand. He shook it easily, then flipped his hand around to peck the back of it, drawing a blush. "And I'm in debt to you it seems."

"You can buy me a cup of decent coffee. This kid may be body building… doesn't mean he knows shit about how to handle knives, or fight." Peppy eyed the subject under his foot, who glared at him. "Of course, the fact that he picked a fight with a military man doesn't help."

"Military?"

"Air Force, but I've had a lot of self-defense and martial arts training." He shrugged. "And I suggest you take some self defense training sometime soon. If you're in a position that gathers stalkers, especially."

She held up a can of mace from her purse. "He smacked it away from me…"

"In this environment, you probably would have hit yourself as easy as him, and a guy like this, probably would have just pissed him off more then anything else. I suggest a tasier."

"Dude. I realize I'm not in a position to complain…" The badger grumbled.

"Well, good for you." Peppy replied.

"Look, my point is, will you at least stop flirting with her?"

Erin giggled as Peppy coughed and glanced away, finally trying to shrug it off. "I'm old, not dead, kid."

"Oh please, you're not that old." She replied, sitting on the hood of her roadster. "You never said your name."

"Oh, my apologies, that was slack manners on my end. Tyler Hare, but my friends call me Peppy as I'm an optimist."

She sat there for a moment, then stared at him. "Peppy Hare? Wait a minute…"

"Holy mother of God." The badger moaned. "A Star Fox member did NOT just kick my ass."

"Yes actually I did, and look at it this way, at least the other boys in jail can't blame you for not winning." Peppy replied, and twisted, pushing his left sleeve up to show the Star Fox insignia tattooed on his upper arm.

"So, you're not Air Force. You're a mercenary." Erin stated.

"Yeah. Does this mean you're going to cop out of buying me coffee?"

She laughed, and he joined her, unable to help it. "Are you KIDDING? I'll be able to tell the girls about this at work, they'll be jealous as hell about it!" She grinned at him, arms crossed over her chest in a somehow defiant pose. "Hell, I think I'll buy you lunch."

"I guess I can deviate from my diet for a day." He replied easily, looking down the line of cars and smiling when the cruiser pulled in, lights on but sirens off. He lifted a hand in devil-horns to it, the cop returned it through an open window, easing up and cutting the engine. "Hey, Tony."

"Hey, Tyler." The two clapped hands, and the cop studied the scene: the badger still pinned on his stomach, one hand obviously not how it should be. "So, who wants to explain?"

Erin started out, explaining that she came to the gym a few times a week to exercise and that the badger had been following her around for months, and that she'd pushed a restraining order against him over a month ago. She hadn't seen him after that, until today. Then she paused, and looked at Peppy, who hadn't moved from where he was. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

He shrugged.

"Tyler." Tony, a cougar, frowned at him, pencil paused in his little notebook.

He let out a sigh. "I have ESP."

"Oh, holy shit." Erin said numbly. "Isn't that... future telling? Then how…"

"'ESP' just breaks down to mean Extra Sensory Perception." Tony replied, making a note in his binder and grumbling to himself. That meant some extra paperwork, but he didn't argue it: he'd seen the note on Peppy's IDs that he was medically certified as one. "So, legally, it broadens to cover things like telepathy, empathy, assorted other random things."

Peppy nodded. "My talent is wandering. Flickers of telepathy and empathy, flickers of the future, but the latter usually are so briefly in the future there's little to be done about it. I flashed into your head Erin, as this jerkoff under my foot slapped you."

"Oh…"

"It was only for a split second. Don't worry, I don't think I know anything about you I shouldn't." He gave her an apologetic look, then turned to his friend. "I got the flash and took a few seconds to break it down. Pretty fuzzy, but the truck behind me stood out, so I looked into it. This jerk had her pinned against her car, and when she didn't tell me everything was fine, I intervened."

"You know, you could just become a professional hero and join the local police." Tony remarked conversationally.

Peppy laughed. "You, sir, have been reading your own billboards too damn much. So, what now?"

"Well, if he's had a restraining order already on him, he's got a record, and I've got your guys' version of it written down. I'll toss him in the back of my cruiser and take him downtown, book him for breaking the restraining order. Fair enough?"

"Works for me." Erin said, watching as Peppy moved and tugged the badger to his feet, and with a turn of his hands, popped the badger's thumb back into socket. Her stalker screamed in surprise, then became placid as he was cuffed and locked into the cruiser, Tony and Peppy exchanging another handshake, the cop heading off. She watched the cruiser leave, then turn to Peppy, who was leaning on the truck, arms crossed comfortably. "Do you really have ESP?"

He dug out his wallet and flipped it open, moving over to her so she could read the ID. "Read the medical notes." He said, handing it to her.

She did, automatically skimming over the "vegetarian species" note then lingering on the ESP lettering, turning her eyes back to him. "You're the first I've met." She finally said, handing him back the wallet.

"It's not something most people who have it talk about, myself included. That's why I didn't at first." He pocketed the wallet. "I think, statistically, about five percent of the system has such powers."

"I'm sorry I brought it up then."

"It's all right." He smiled easily. "You mentioned lunch, when would you want to do so?"

She startled, then laughed. "Well, I was honestly on my way into the gym…"

"Eh, so was I."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"My date with the tread machine can wait." She finally ventured.

"I'm sure the weight machine can as well." He agreed. "What's your poison?"

"Lord, I can't remember the last time I had pizza." Erin said, picking up the huge slice and digging in eagerly. "You sure this is all right?"

"This is about the second time I've deviated from my diet in six months, I'm sure my doctor won't bust my chops too horribly." Peppy replied, picking up his own slice. Happily, he wasn't lactose intolerant, he thought to himself as he took an eager bite. "I used to come by this place all the time."

"I would, but I'm stuck in a career where such things must be rare." She replied, slurping a diet soda through a straw. "I've got to ask. What's it like, being part of Star Fox?"

"What's it like being a girl?" He countered.

She blinked, then nodded. "Oh. Not much basis of comparison?"

"Not really. I was normal Air Force before James McCloud started the little band up and I joined. I've never held a "civilian" job." He took a drink, considering. "I mean, it's different from the Air Force is, really different. It's more casual, if anything."

"By all means tell me about it. I mean how many people get this chance? To talk to a war hero?"

"Stop that." He leveled a finger at her. "Watch the combat videos sometime. I'm not the war hero. THAT title belongs to Fox, and maybe Falco. Slippy and I, we're bystanders. Slippy wasn't even supposed to fly forward… he works on the arwings and the Great Fox and was recruited into combat flight last second. Me, I'm strategy. Fox calls me a steady Eddie. I'm always there, but I'm not fancy. I'm not hero material."

"I seem to have smacked a hornet's nest with a boulder." She observed.

"Bah. Maybe you're right, my apologies." He sighed, taking another bite of his pizza. "It has its fun points. Most of the time, I feel like I've adopted a frat house."

She giggled, unable to help that mental image. "Is it that bad?"

"Oh, god yes. The boys, they're teenagers, and in spite of their fame they didn't change much at all." He shook his head ruefully, picking his pizza back up. "I'm the voice of reason in the insanity I guess."

"What are they like, really? When they're not on camera?"

"Teenagers. They date, play their stereos loud, stay up late at night. They're motorheads—tuner racers, actually, Slippy's good with land engines too. But they're good boys. They'll be good men, when they finally decide to grow up a bit." He took a bite, and after swallowing, turned the tables. "How about you? What do you do for a living?"

She smiled at him. "I'm a model."

"I'll believe that." He said cheerfully. "Considering looking at you is like being smacked by a two-by-four, as far as shocks go."

"Now you stop that." She repeated the finger-leveling motion back at him. "You have no idea how much of a pain in the ass it is. It's bad for your back, the hours are grueling on shoots, and everyone who doesn't actually know you is convinced you're a pretty face with no brain."

"Seems to me you have a lot of smarts locked up in there." He replied.

"That's about the highest compliment I've received in a while. Thanks."

They ate in silence for a while, watching out the window as the city passed by them.

"I'd say this qualifies, all in all, as one of my better days this week." Erin finally said, propping her jaw on her hand and looking at him. "I feel like I've made a friend."

He grinned at her. "The feeling is mutual." He offered his hand, and they shook on it. "One thing I did want to mention though, you really should take self defense lessons."

She shook her head. "My schedule is really strange… shoots come in last minute, sometimes I'm booked for weeks solid more or less, sometimes I'm off for weeks. It's hard to fit in things like that that have regular dates of meeting. I tried kickboxing last year… had to quit because I couldn't even make half the lessons."

"Kickboxing, eh?" He sat back, considering. "I can see it with those legs…"

She threw a crumbled napkin at him.

He caught it. "Sorry, I am male, can't help some things. What I was going to say though, I'm not sure kickboxing will help much at close-quarters defense."

"What style would you suggest then, assuming I ever have the time?"

"Wouldn't suggest any style, I'd suggest finding a class that specifies in self defense, one maybe taught by some old Marine who knows five styles and every trick in the book." He paused, considering. "Hell, I could teach you a few moves that'd at least help."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You'd teach me martial arts?"

"A little, some basic moves that'll incapacitate someone attacking you. What I did today can be performed by practically anyone versus basically any attacker. It's technique, not size." He shrugged. "And it's easily fixed, so it's not something you can get in trouble for, unlike carrying a pistol or some other sometimes lethal way of defense."

"Well, we'll see eh?" She said, finishing her pizza with gusto.

"As said, just wanted to mention it again." He set his crust down, picking his drink back up, and wasn't wholly surprised when she took and ate his crust. "Damn girl, what do they feed you in modeling?"

"Not pizza." She replied. "Though they really should… the modeling company I'm working for doesn't care for stick women."

"And rightly so. It's hard to hug a twig. Are we ordering dessert?"

"They have tiramisu: yes."

"Oh, Lord almighty, I'm not going to be able to eat anything fattening the rest of the week."

"ERIN! OMIGOD!"

Peppy jumped when another form hurtled through the pizza shop and hugged Erin from behind, babbling happy sentiments so quickly Peppy caught about half of them. Erin suffered it grandly, and after a few moments the new arrival straightened and gave him one of the most brilliant, world-breaking smiles he'd ever seen. Goth cheerleader, he pondered. A doe, unreal long legs and brilliant eyes, hair dyed black and cut about jaw length except for two long thin plaits. She wasn't wearing a lot—a dark plaid miniskirt and white button-up shirt, tied to show a lot of midriff and the sleeves rolled. Knee-high white socks and black clunky shoes completed the confusing package. As he was watching she blew a black bubble.

"I admire your choice in gum." He heard himself say, and almost clobbered himself. "And you are?"

"I'm Chelsea. I work with Erin." She replied in a bubbly happy voice.

Oh, great, another model? Wait, gothy cheerleader model? The hell? Then again… Fox would probably love this. For all Fox pretended he was a prep, Peppy had noticed his eyes wandered to follow the goth crowds at malls and such. Peppy made a note to give Fox a beer and a talking-to about being himself. "Name's Tyler, pleasure to meet you." He shook hands with her easily.

"What brings you here Chelsie?" Erin asked.

"Tiramisu." She replied, blowing another bubble. "Be dang if I let myself get sucked into the rice-cakes-and-celery diet most of you guys do at the agency."

"You get gutty, our boss is going to grouch at you." Erin flicked Chelsea's pierced navel. Peppy nearly clobbered himself again as he watched the little star dangling off the piercing bounce.

"So I model for someone else. Curvy ladies get respect too." She stuck out her tongue. "So can I sit, or what?"

"Yes. And grab three tiramisus while you're at it." Erin watched the gothic bubblehead flounce off to the counter, then looked at Peppy. "Your eyeballs are competing with saucers."

"Uh, yeah, sorry.. what or who the hell was that?"

"Chelsea. She's one of the youngest at the agency I work for… our boss is smart enough to know blue-eyed buxom blondes don't do it for everyone. She's been with us about a month now."

"Recent recruit then."

"Yeah. Adorable, kind, not a brain in that dyed-black skull of hers." Erin took a drink from her soda. "She wants to be a nurse someday."

"She'd cause heart attacks in geriatrics." Peppy said weakly. "Seriously, I nearly keeled over clutching my chest."

"You are seriously deprived the company of women, aren't you?"

He did math. "For about eight years now, yes. Dating is an issue for me."

"Well, that sucks." Chelsea arrived back, passing out dessert. "We should introduce you around the agency."

"No way." Peppy shook his head. "I might have been able to make friends with you, Erin, but you are not dragging me into an entire office full of beautiful women. I'm afraid oxygen would stop going to my brain."

"That's boy code for 'I'd embarrass myself due to uncontrollable things.'" Erin said, grinning.

Peppy picked up his fork and pointed it at her. "At least I admit it, even if it is in code. I'm deprived and I'll live with it. Thank you much."

"How'd you meet this guy anyways?" Chelsea asked, taking a bite then licking her fork off. Peppy stared at this, then shook off.

"Oh, he saved my dignity." Erin replied, taking a bite of her own tiramisu.

"Oh, that must have taken some doing."

Erin gave Chelsea a look. "I'll give you the entire story later. Ok?"

"Obie-kabie." She turned to Peppy, who was quietly taking a drink. "You look familiar."

"I get that a lot." He replied mildly.

"Really? So do I! Maybe we work in the same field?"

Erin cupped her face in her hands and started laughing helplessly, simply because there was no sarcasm in Chelsea's voice at all: she was drop dead serious. Peppy, meanwhile, managed to smile with grace. "I'm flattered, but no, I'm not a model, or an actor. I'm in the military."

"Really! Have you ever killed anyone?"

"I'm not sure that's a story to be told over tiramisu."

"Aw." Chelsea pouted, and reattacked her dessert with a vengeance.

"Hey, what's your phone number?" Erin asked, looking at Peppy over the table as she flipped through the menus in her cell phone. "Because if I let you go without getting it, I'll be abusing myself for a week about it."

"I'll give you mine if you give me yours."

There was a frozen moment, then Chelsea said brightly, "Hey, if we're going to be doing that, at least let me get a camera."

Peppy moaned, rubbing his eyes, and the nearby tables that had been eavesdropping burst into laughter and applause. Chelsea bounced to her feet and curtsied, to doubled applause.

"It's a deal." Erin finally said with a grin, and Peppy dug out his phone begrudgingly, the pair swapping phones and entering their numbers into the memories, then passing back. "You know what you're getting yourself into, right?"

"Of course I do, but if you two drive me into cardiac arrest, at least I'll have bragging rights in the hospital. Hell, imagine the obituaries."

"Military man killed dead by model's charm, filmed at eleven." Chelsea pushed her empty plate away, folding a new stick of gum into her mouth absently.

"You know considering the implants some of the girls have… hmm, is that considered bludgeoning?" Erin propped her chin on her hand, pondering.

"That's my cue. Have fun ladies." Peppy stood and dropped enough money on the table to cover most of the bill and left, walking the half-block back to his car, still shaking his head, but he was smiling.


	2. Chapter 2: Happy Motorheads

_Author's Note: My brother Rich was a fount of knowledge for this chapter. Because it's easier, I'm using current existing car makes and models. Yeah, it's weird in StarFox, but I'm setting a mood. Apologies to all who find it offsetting._

Chapter Two: Happy Motorheads

Peppy pulled up to the security booth at the spaceport, and had to stare. The guard there was embroiled in a furious argument with a teenager that looked familiar. Behind that teenagers car was nine other cars lined up, to make for a grand total of six tuner racecars and three people-haulers, one of which was towing a trailer loaded up with a cones, tires, and a grill. Whatever this was, it was holding up traffic, because they'd turned as a convoy and were now across an opposing lane.

Such is life, right? Peppy sighed, getting in the convoy line then shutting off his car, walking up the row to join the security guard and teenager. "Afternoon." He remarked, flashing the ID badge that got him into the spaceport. "Mind if I ask what's going on?"

"Oh, Mr. Hare, thank god." The security guard said. "Just so happens, these kids are trying to get to your landing slip."

"Oh really?" Peppy turned to the teenager, who had crossed his arms, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "… Cody, right?"

"Yeah, hi Peppy." Cody replied, looking relieved he was recognized.

"Mind telling me what this is about?"

"Well, Fox and Falco had an epiphany… the docking slips used for spaceships are the same size as the track we rent out for drifting, but are half the cost overall." Cody scratched the back of his neck. "So he put the call out to all of us. I guess he met the other guys at the gate, so they got in ok, but we can't through on his cellphone and this guy won't let us in."

_And the sad part is, I don't even bat an eye. Life as normal with the Star Fox crew._ Peppy sighed, turning to the security guard. "Can you get them in on my security?"

"Yeah I guess so, but you have to lead them in."

Peppy nodded and went back to his car, pulling around the convoy, which backed up as one to let him get to the head of the snake. He passed through the gates, which the guard kept open for the entire procession to be allowed through, the traffic jam ceasing. Peppy took the roads automatically, leading the buzzing turbocharged beasts to the farthest landing slips. Because the Great Fox was a mercenary vessel, it couldn't be touched down on military spaceports, so a deal had to be cut with the commercial spaceport. They allowed the Great Fox, but it was landed on their most remote slip, away from the rest of the constant traffic. Furthermore, the landmaster, as well as other random military equipment, was not to see the light of day. They'd agreed, not having much of a choice, and it had worked out just fine.

This meant all the slips around them were constantly empty, and now, Fox and Falco were capitalizing on that, apparently.

Peppy shook his head in amazement as he pulled into his usual parking spot below the Great Fox's massive body, watching the ricer crew pull in around him, parking diagonally. Already gathered under the Great Fox were five other cars that the crew didn't own, along with the ones they did. Fox was talking to a group of friends, and wove cheerfully when he saw everyone arrive.

"So, you want to give me your version?" Peppy asked, joining them as everyone else did.

"We rented the docking slip next to us out for the day. Everyone here is splitting the cost, so it's damn cheap. We're going to set up cones, and it'll be like the drift track we fork out a fortune for." Falco replied, crossing his arms as per the usual. "Oh, hey, Sienna. You got the tires eh?"

"My dad caved." The girl that was apparently Sienna cheerfully replied, adjusting her ballcap that advertised a car bodyshop. "And Anthony borrowed the cones from his dad's construction biz, so they're heavy duty enough. We can run them over all day, they'll bounce back."

"Rock on."

"Slippy, man, you able to work on my car or what?" Complained one of the people in the back. "I still can't figure out what I'm doing wrong."

"You know the deal." Slippy replied automatically. He was under Fox's car, doing god-knows-what. "I tune your car, you race with our decals."

"Ok, ok, fine. God."

"I think this is where I came in boys." Peppy said with a laugh and started walking toward the dock ramp, then paused, looking over his shoulder. "Hey, Fox."

"Yeah, what's up?" Fox asked, helping wheel the grill.

"I made the acquaintance of a girl today you just have to meet."

"Peppy talking to a girl? Wonders will never cease." Falco said, leaning on the hood of his car. "Do tell, do tell."

"What makes you think she's my type?" Fox asked, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow at Peppy.

Peppy turned back to him, wandering over and pondering his wording. "Tall, slender, more leg then you can possibly dream of. Dyed black hair, impeccable makeup tastes, pieced belly button." He grinned, watching Fox's mind go into overdrive immediately. "She's a doe, before you ask."

"Uh-huh… and how exactly did you make the acquaintance of a hot goth chick with a pierced belly button?"

"I'm lucky that way."

"She a Suicide Girl?"

"I don't know. I do know she's a model, apparently."

"And do you have this girl's phone number?"

"No. However, I have her friend's phone number." Peppy tossed his cell phone up and down in one hand, watching Fox's eyes move with the phone.

"Dude, you of all people don't need an old man setting you up." One of the racers remarked, watching this. "You're a war hero, you drive a hot car, and you strength train."

"And Peppy has a way to contact a hot goth chick." Falco said, helping set up the grill, as Fox had ceased having interest.

"Wait, Fox is into goth chicks?"

Falco ceased what he was doing and stared at the talking racer as if he had just committed a cardinal sin, then shook his head, lighting up the grill in an impressive fireball.

"Next person to call me old man walks with a limp for a week, swear to god. Only I can insult myself." Peppy rolled his eyes, pocketing the phone and passing Fox, who turned to watch this. "I'll fill you in later, ok?"

"I will hold you to that." Fox said quietly, then walked over and pulled Slippy out from under his car on the wheeled cart. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Yes, I'm just hiding from everyone." Slippy replied snarkly, sitting up. "It's as good as it's getting for now, unless you have several more thousand dollars to sink into it."

"As much as an RX7 is a good reason to waste money, I'm tapped for now." Fox replied, rolling his eyes, climbing into the driver's seat and starting it.

Peppy sighed, listening as the engine turned over. He would never get used to this part of it. To him, a race car should snarl and roar—his damaged car had, once upon a time. Horsepower to him meant bassy rumbles and hot rods. Fox's car came to life instantly, not to growling but to a strange noise that could only be compared to a large horde of very pissed off bumble bees. He was the only person unimpressed, though, the rest of the crowd cheered and applauded.

"Ok, I'll manage the grill. Rest of you guys need to get our track set up and make sure vehicles are ready." Falco said, pulling out a stack of printouts. "I've been playing around with the track arrangements and have a few good ideas on how to do this, here." He passed the printouts to the owner of the trailer, who teamed up with several others to start setting up the course.

"Hey, Slip, come here." Peppy said, relieving Falco of everything flammable and managing the coals. "Got a … question for you."

"I'm terrified. What?" Slippy half-smiled, opening a soda.

"I might have a project for you."

"Something wrong with your sedan?" Slippy glanced at the very mismatched vehicle, trapped in the center of a line of ricer cars.

"My sedan? No. I have another car that's been languishing for a while. It's no minor project, though." Peppy, satisfied with the coals, checked with Falco, who was making and stacking burgers. Falco, in spite of the face he threw to the public, could in no particular order sew, cook, iron, and manage the team's accounts. What Falco lacked in niceties, he made up with a long résumé of useful abilities.

"What kind of car?" Falco asked, having been listening in.

Peppy shrugged. "'69 Roadrunner."

Slippy started to say something, stopped, and said carefully, "What's wrong with it?"

"I front-ended it into a telephone pole a long time ago. It's pretty much gutted… everything dash-forward is gone. The sidepanels are ok, but the bumper's missing and the engine was pulped." Peppy shook his head. "So I've had it parked and pretty much ignored it for a long time. Now listening to those, I'm sorry, rice burner monstrosities you dare call racecars, I'm thinking about getting back into muscle cars."

"Stickshift?"

"And I look like a coward all of the sudden? Of course it's a stickshift."

Falco, mixing barbeque sauce and thinking, looked to Slippy. "That has a lot of potential. You can cram a lot engine into that thing."

"Pistons going, Falco, give me a minute…" Slippy rubbed his chin. "Yeah. Yeah, definitely. I'll take it on Peppy."

"And what will that cost me?"

"Parts costs, a nice large Star Fox Racing logo on the back windshield."

"Done deal. Have at the grill, Falco, its ready."

An hour later, Peppy was leaning on one of the Great Fox's massive landing gear struts, watching Fox and Falco take the course at once. Nothing changed, on the ground, in the sky, Falco was Fox's wingman. Falco's vehicle choice was an NSX, which Peppy still wasn't sure how he'd paid for, and it kept up with Fox's RX7 fine. Peppy supposed it was their way of still being able to fly when they weren't on missions.

"Oh, hell, check it out." One of the racers who was sitting on his car suddenly said, nearly shouting to be heard over the snarling engines. "Cops, man."

Seeing the racers instantly lunge for cars, keys coming out, Peppy shouted for order, and to his shock, got it, everyone turning to look at him. Peppy sighed and rubbed his eyes, waving for them to stay calm. "If you try to bolt here, they'll just lock the spaceport down." He remarked as they gathered around him. "Let me take care of it, all right?" They all nodded, and he strolled over to the two Spaceport Security jeeps that had just pulled up, the people inside gaping as Fox and Falco's cars skidded around one of the turns of the track, and three of the people watching held up numbered score cards cheerfully for their opinion of said drift. "Help you?" Peppy asked, hooking his thumbs in his beltloops absently.

"You have a spaceport ID?" One asked warily, and relaxed when Peppy displayed it for them. "All right, Mr. Hare, want to tell us what's going on?"

Peppy did, dryly putting a "boys will be boys" spin on it as he relayed the tale. The security members nodded like bobbleheads through it, watching as Falco and Fox's cars pulled off the track and another set of cars pulled on easily, revving at a start line and waiting for Sienna to wave a go-flag.

"All well and good, but this really isn't the place to do such things." One finally said peevishly.

"Are we breaking a station rule? The slip is paid for."

"Er, well… Not exactly, as there is no set rule against it in the book. Do these people have spaceport IDs?"

"I was under the impression we could have as many guests over as we like as long as we bring them in under our security and take responsibilities for their actions." Peppy replied peacefully, watching the guards squirm. "Besides, the slips next to us are never given out."

"That MAY be true, but this isn't a public race course!" One finally sputtered.

"Nope. It's a private one for the day. Now, if you don't have any real allegations…?"

The guards looked at each other, and got back into their cars, getting on their radios once inside. Peppy smiled at them and walked back under his cruiser, going to where Fox and Falco were standing with their cars.

"What was that all about?" Fox asked, pulling off his tank top absently.

"They were trying to find a rule for us to be breaking. As of now, we're not, though I have no doubt they'll be trying to add a few over the next few days." Peppy replied dryly. "Milk it while you can, boys."

"Yeah, indeed, and dammit Fox!" Falco frowned at him. "Once again, I must insist that if you're going to have those in, you keep your shirt on."

Fox sat his hands on his hips and scowled. "What is your issue with my piercings, pray tell?" When Falco sputtered, he turned back to Peppy. "Now, are you going to explain about this goth girl you met or what?"

"Her name is Chelsea, I don't know her last name. I'd guess she's maybe twenty at the most." Peppy shrugged. "Met her by accident, but hell, I met her friend by accident as well. We parted friends."

"And why exactly are you baiting me with this?"

"A, because you need a girlfriend. B, because you need to stop pretending you're preppy." Peppy counted these on his fingers as he went. "And C, I figure one can solve the other if I work it right."

"For the record, Pep, I don't think someone who's been divorced and then single as long as you have has the right to give relationship advice." Falco remarked dryly, sitting on the hood of his car. Peppy flipped him off.

"Can you get me her phone number or what then?" Fox asked flatly.

"I'll work on it, eh?" Peppy shrugged, and finally retreated inside the cruiser. He'd been here how long, and he'd actually only come here to pick up some uniforms so he could get them washed. Oy, such went life. He sighed, walking down the hallway of the cruiser, brushing his fingertips along the metal wall as he went.

Falco's comment wasn't sitting too well with him, but he guessed he had deserved it. He'd been divorced, what, eight years now? And yet, his apartment still felt too big, too empty every time he went home to it. The gap where his piano had been, liquidated during the divorce—and his ex's one mean strike against him—still sat blank and unfilled. He'd taken the pictures down, and hadn't really gotten around to hanging much of anything else back up. He'd never really been much for interior design, anyways.

After that, he'd simply soaked himself in work, and when assignments had gone slack, he'd taken up gourmet cooking. James and Pigma had loved him for it… his doctor had hated him for it. He cheerfully held he was one of the few bachelors who could really cook, most people agreed, though his dieting had held a lot of that back. So now, Falco cooked for the boys when it was necessary, which was often. It was theorized that Fox was powered by a small black hole.

He picked up his laundry basket, and wasn't surprised when he saw the boys had added on, a "Please?" note tacked on top of it. He rolled his eyes and nodded to himself, toting the laundry out of the cruiser. Life as normal.

He was closing his trunk, the laundry having been banished to it, when his phone started blaring, the cheerful notes barely making themselves heard over the blaring car engines and the nearby van, which was apparently set up as a sound system. He plugged one of his ears automatically as he looked at the screen, and started laughing.

YOU HAVE A CALL FROM "SEXY MODEL CHICK". ACCEPT?

Still laughing, he answered the phone, leaning on the back of his car. "Peppy Hare speaking."

"It's Erin… are you at a racetrack?" She finished with the question in a bewildered tone.

"I may as well be. It's a long story. What's up?" He moved to sit on the hood of his car, watching a variety of cars he couldn't have identified on a good day streak around the track, one taking the turns after the other.

"I just got talked into some sort of outing on Saturday. A picnic at one of the local parks." Erin replied, staring out one of the windows of the studio, listening in bewilderment to the buzzing and roaring coming through on the other side of the phone line. "And I don't want to suffer through this alone. So I suddenly thought, hey, since we're allowed to bring friends, why not invite your little group?"

"A picnic?" Peppy echoed in bewilderment. "I hate to inform you, but you'll need a small army's worth of food to feed these boys."

"It's also a potluck. Bring whatever you like, we'll have the full spectrum of dietary needs covered."

Peppy scratched his head, then shrugged. "I'll ask the boys, but I'll come if anything. Give me directions?" He committed them to memory as she told him which park and what side of the park it was going to be on, then after a moment, asked cheerfully, "So, is your friend the black-haired bubblehead going to be there?"

Erin burst into laughter. "Yes, Chelsie is going to be there I think, why?"

"Because I can use that fact to bribe Fox into coming. See you Saturday." He hung up grinning, pocketing the phone, and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Fox, Falco, Slip, where are you?"

"Over here!"

He followed the voice, eventually finding Slippy leaned over the engine of someone else's car, Fox handing him tools and also studying the contents, and Falco explaining the deal again to the driver. Slippy's skills at tuning cars was highly sought after… but generally speaking, he only worked on Fox and Falco's vehicles. Realizing the need, the group had created a racing banner, and anyone who wanted to be tuned by Slippy had to race under that banner. Apparently, so far their notoriety had grown to the point they had gotten a passing reference in a magazine (no pictures though) and lots of talk in the internet. "You boys busy Saturday?" He asked, watching Slippy ponder.

"Not yet." Fox replied. Slippy nodded agreement.

"My newfound friend just invited me to some sort of picnic/potluck crossover this Saturday. Wants me to come, and wants me to bring you guys along." He shrugged. "So I figured I'd ask. And yes, Fox, her friend is coming."

"Free food? I'm in." Slippy said with a grin.

Fox, meanwhile, had just made some connections. "This friend of yours, she's a model?"

"Apparently."

"So we've been invited to a picnic full of models?"

"Again, apparently."

"What do you want in return, pray tell? My soul, my life savings? Won't give you my car, sorry."

Falco started laughing. "I think we're in, Pep. Want me to bring something along for the potluck?"

"If you want, just make something decent and in large quantities. I plan on cooking as well."

"Healthy or fattening?" Slippy asked.

"Fattening." Peppy replied sourly. "My diet may be screwed, boys." This brought laughter, and many fingers poking toward his gut, all of which he deflected before they actually touched him. "Anyways, I have the time and directions to the place, want to meet here at noon on Saturday, drive over as a convoy?"

"Works for me." Falco said, and the other two nodded.

"All right then. See you guys later."


	3. Chapter 3: Big Man on Mulberry Street

Chapter Three: Big Man on Mulberry Street

"You sure about this?" Chelsea asked, leaning on the back the chair Erin was in as she typed her request into the search program.

"Why not? He's not in the phonebook. I'm curious where he lives." Erin replied, watching the replies come back. "There's his address." She said, setting one of her claws next to the entry. "That's an apartment complex, not a bad one either."

"Figures, half of Corneria City proper lives in apartments." Chelsea said, blowing a bubble. "Why are you so interested in him anyway? I mean, he seems like a nice guy, and he's not bad looking, but come on. You have how many hot guys begging for your attention?"

"True enough, but one of those 'hot guys' just got thrown in jail again for stalking me. If Pep hadn't interrupted, who knows what may have happened." She sighed, sitting back in the chair and rubbing the back of her neck. Work had been light lately, but her savings account was well filled—she wasn't worried about it.

"Maybe so, but I think you've reached the stalker level yourself now. Why not just call him and ask for his address so you can meet him there?" Chelsea moved to sit on the desk, kicking a foot absently.

"Eh, hell, I don't know. I guess I feel like I'd reach stalker level if I call and ask him to lunch on top of asking him to the thing on Saturday." She shrugged helplessly, spreading her hands.

"So basically you have a crush?" Chelsea smiled at her brightly, and had to defend herself when Erin swatted at her in annoyance.

"Shut UP, you!" Erin frowned at her disapprovingly. "He's my friend. That's all."

"Right, sure. I believe you now. We still going to the mall?"

"Not sure, Natasha was supposed to drive and I have no clue where Natasha is." Erin pushed away from the computer and stood, stretching. "Shall we go find her?"

"Clothes are good, or so say many."

Erin looked down at herself and began to laugh, rubbing her eyes. She was still in the lingerie she'd been modeling earlier. "I think I've been in this job too long."

"Anything's possible."

Ten minutes later Erin had managed to untangle herself and was in a sundress and sandals, suffering Chelsea to putting a straw hat on their head before they wandered the rest of their part of the building, eventually finding Natasha hassling the vending machine resupplier. So far, she had five free bottles of soda tucked under an arm. "Hello ladies." Natasha said by way of greeting. The vending machine man looked a combination of dumbstruck and horrified, wondering if more sodas were about to swindled from him. "Ready to go shopping?" Natasha smiled, flicking her hair back and passing them each a soda cheerfully.

"If you are. Erin almost managed to go in skimpies though." Chelsea said, opening her soda greedily.

"That doesn't surprise me at all." Natasha returned the other two unopened sodas to the vendor guy, and the three walked on, leaving him to sputter.

"Well, we're quite the trio." Erin remarked in the elevator. She was in a sundress, Natasha was dressed like a gypsy, and Chelsea was in a miniskirt, platform shoes, and a spaghetti-string top.

"Good. Let the mall be scandalized."

Peppy grinned as he walked into the store, watching the clerks look up and smile at him. "Hey guys, is May in?" He asked, leaning on the counter easily.

"I hear my favorite customer that never buys. Hey Tyler." May came out from the back room, grinning at him. "You breaking down and actually paying for something today?"

"I might, but you know me, I'm picky and on a budget." He smiled at her. "And you always sell more stuff when I'm around anyways."

"True enough. And as to you being picky, come in back, I've got something to show you."

Peppy followed her beyond the curtain, into a maze of boxes and dusty bulky covered shapes, eventually to a covered shape by the loading docks. She pulled the dust cover off, and Peppy found himself staring at a battered white baby grand piano. It looked like it had been through a war, and yet… he walked over to it and tapped one of the keys, wincing at the broken sad note that emerged.

"Apparently, the stagecrew of a highschool ruined this thing after a football game." May said, watching him run his hand over the cover sadly. "So the school pressed an upright into use. The school recently got the funds together for a full grand piano, so we ended up with this. They were going to junk it. You know me."

"You can't stand to see an instrument destroyed." Peppy nodded. "How old is it?"

"Well I don't know exactly, but probably fifty years easy. The school wasn't the first party to have it." She shrugged. "It'll cost a small fortune to fix up."

"How much we looking at?"

"About half the cost it'd be new, easy."

"Mmm." He sighed. "Keep me posted, fair enough?"

"Fair enough."

They walked back out front, Peppy scratching one of his ears with a sigh. "You going to be mad if I play for a bit?"

"Go right ahead. I'm still planning on scalping your ex-wife by the way." May crossed her arms. "I mean, I don't care if she's hot, selling your husband's instrument out from under him is cruel and unusual punishment."

"Her parents paid for it." He shrugged, sitting at one of the benches and opening the key cover. "I mean, if you look at it, I got off easy."

"I'm still scalping her."

He smiled and shook his head, lifting his hands to the keys and playing.

"And in conclusion, women are the superior gender." Natasha remarked cheerfully as they walked down the corridor of the mall. All were carrying bags of some sort, the stores they were from widely assorted. People moved and gaped as they cheerfully walked by, and one poor fellow had forgotten to watch where he was going and ended up in a fountain.

"I don't know about that. I'd say it depends on the woman, mostly." Erin replied dryly, turning pages of one of her new books as they walked. "Where to next?"

"Jewelry, maybe…" Chelsea said, stopping and leaning on the railing, looking down at the lower level of the mall. "Hey, check out the crowd."

Erin and Natasha joined her, and noticed the drifting crowd of around a dozen folks hovering outside the mall's music store. Even from where they were, they heard piano music overriding the background music of the mall. "Guess someone's putting on a show." Erin said, marking her place in her book absently. "Want to check it out?"

"Eh. Sure."

May smiled, sitting on her amp and playing along on her electric bass as Peppy played the jazz tune easily, eyes closed and nodding along just barely. As she watched, the other clerks finished moving a drum set over, and one of them sat down on the stool and joined in carefully, keeping to the rhythm that May and Peppy set.

This was, of course, why May liked having Peppy around. He was good, damn good, at piano, and that drew people into the store and prompted them to buy things, anything from replacement strings for their guitars to arranging a payment plan for a new instrument. And it was also why she was planning on mauling Peppy's ex if she ever set foot in the store…

Peppy played the ending chords, grinning at the small crowd as they applauded. "Thanks." He said in a rather dry voice.

"Ohmigod! Peppy?"

And May burst into surprised laughter as a rather young Goth-ish girl hurdled from the crowd and snared Peppy into a hug. Even from where she was standing, Peppy's bewildered noises were evident, and the crowd joined in the laughter, applauding again.

Eventually Peppy untangled the girl's arms from around him and put her to arm's length, staring at her. "Chelsea?" He asked blankly. "What are you doing here?"

She stared at him as she blew a bubble, black gum again, and held up the bags in one of her hands.

"Oh. Right. Well, it is good to see you again…"

"She didn't come alone. Hey, Pep." Erin said, also walking over, Natasha following close behind. "We must quit meeting like this." She grinned.

He grinned back. "Indeed. I'm friends with the store owner, and she lets me play piano here sometimes." He ran a finger down the keys easily.

"We heard, seems you're decent." She sat on the bench next him, backwards so she leaned back against the piano, crossing her legs at the knees absently.

"Move and I'll prove that fact." He replied, and she sat up and turned, watching as he rattled his short dull claws on the wood, then looked at May. "Follow my lead?"

"As if I'd do anything else." May replied with a grin, eyeing the three girls that had walked into the store. "And thank you for the yummy scenery."

"Ha, right." Peppy rolled his eyes and started another song, a jazzy dance song. Erin sat beside him wordlessly, watching his hands curiously as he played. It made him a little self-conscious, but he made himself mostly ignore the eyeballing.

"Can you play keyboards too?" Natasha asked when he wrapped up the tune.

He half-shrugged. "I'm not as good, but yeah, sure. The concept is the same, but I like the sound of a grand piano better. It's richer."

"Damn, Pep, how long have you been playing?" Erin asked, watching him shut the key cover.

"Eh, since I was five. I was one of the many children put into piano lessons, but one of the few that found I actually enjoyed it." Peppy half-smiled as he stood and stretched. "Now that I'm done showing off, how about you introduce me to the third in your ensemble, hm?"

"Natasha Cane." She held out a hand, which he shook easily. "'Pep', hmm? Short for Peppy?"

"Indeed, my real name is Tyler." He half-shrugged.

"Want to come to lunch with us, Peppy?" Chelsea asked. Erin glared at her halfway, and wasn't surprised when Chelsea just grinned at her.

"I don't have anything planned, so sure, why not? Long as it's a place that'll serve veggies."

"Doable."

The group, now numbering four, strolled out of the music shop, Peppy lifting a hand to wave at May, who wove back. "So, are you veggie by choice?" Natasha asked, slinging her bags over her shoulder. "I couldn't stand it, myself.

"You and most felines." He replied dryly. "And no, I'm not. I'd love to be an omnivore, but unfortunately for me, what mixed-genes I have didn't roll that up. I'm allergic to meat, but fortunately, not to milk products. I spend a small fortune to buy veggie-safe broths and whatnot so I can cook decently."

"You're mixed? I can't tell." Chelsea said, eyeing him.

"Indeed, most can't. It was two generations back, and most don't believe it when I tell them." He shrugged. "My former wing commander always said go-figure though. You don't see many of my kind in the military unless they have predatory genes somewhere back there."

"Heheh, I have noticed. So what's your mix? Spill." Chelsea play-shoved him, he shoved back, and she pinwheeled several feet back until he snared her back. "I won't be doing that again." She hastily assured him.

"Wise choice, I tend to play for keeps, comes from years of sparring. Apologies. Of course I'm also used to dealing with a bunch of teenage boys as well." He ruffled her hair. "I'm part lion."

"No kidding?" Erin looked at him in surprise, not surprised that he was treating Chelsea like a niece or something.

"Nope, no kidding at all."

"I have some wolf in me." Chelsea remarked. "Little farther back then yours, though, Pep."

"Most races are mixed up nowadays, it's just something is more predominant then something else. Anyone who claims to be "pure-blood" isn't looking back far enough." Natasha said wisely.

"Amen to that." Peppy nodded to her. "So, where we eating?"

"Can you do sushi?" Natasha asked, pausing to evaluate her mental map of the city.

"Sure, a lot of sushi is meatless."

"Sushi it is then."

"Ok, I don't get it, how do you use these things?"

"No, hold them like this." Peppy said, showing his proficient grip on his own chopsticks. Chelsea tried to imitate him and nearly got soy sauce in her eye. "No… oh, here." He reached over and rearranged her grip for her.

Erin propped her jaw on her hand, watching this with amusement. "So. Do you always adopt everyone younger then you, or is this just an exception?"

"Fox calls it the automatic-dad syndrome." Peppy replied sourly, watching as Chelsea managed to pick up one of the sushi rolls. "He's observed that anyone under twenty-five is subject to it, and finds it hilarious that no one usually protests either. Of course, the boys take advantage of it and con me into doing laundry, cooking for them, practically the works."

"Sounds like teenagers to me." Natasha observed. "Though I count it's your fault if they're bullying you."

"Trust me, I do my fair share of bullying back. Which is why any and all of our equipment is in working order still." He ate one of his own sushi rolls after dipping it in wasabi. Erin leaned away from him in disbelief. "So, you three have the day off eh?"

"No, I've got a shoot at four. I'm just determined to relax until then." Chelsea replied, after digging out a daily planner and perusing it.

"Erin and I are done for the day though." Natasha inserted. "What's your plans?"

"Other then returning to the Space Port and making sure Security there didn't arrest everyone, not a thing." Peppy admitted. "I already did my tour of the gym, and I'm not on duty."

"Well, why don't we drop Chelsea back off and tag along? We'll put your boys in order for the rest of the week." She grinned wickedly, taking a sip of her green tea.

"Not fair." Chelsea pouted.

"What's gotten into you, Nat?" Erin asked, emptying her plate and yanking more off a passing sushi boat.

"I like mortifying people." She smiled smugly at Erin.

"Right."

"This is where I just figure I'm a guy and I'll never get it." Peppy grumbled to himself.

"And that's why we love you." Chelsea told him. "That and you showed me how to use chopsticks." Peppy just blinked at her, then shook his head.

"Ok, Natasha, spill. What's your real reason for this escapade?" Erin asked, sliding Natasha a look as they followed Peppy through traffic. They'd traded to her roadster after dropping Chelsea off.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You are a horrid liar."

"No, I'm a great liar, you've just known me too long and know how I work." Natasha replied, eating a fortune cookie.

"All right, fine. You're still spilling."

"You like him. A lot." She threw the wrapper at Erin purposefully. "But for some reason, you aren't getting off your butt and doing anything about it. So, Chelsea and I are intervening on your behalf."

"I'm nearly thirty, Nat, I do NOT need you to set me up!"

"Says you!"

There was a long silence, during which Erin rattled her nails on the steering wheel, then sagged and looked at Natasha head-on as they waited for a light. "He's over a decade older then me, you know."

"So?"

Erin sighed.

About ten minutes later, during which Natasha amused herself with Erin's music collection, they were pulling through the security gate of the Space Port. Instead of using the front entrance, which is where most civilians went, they used the side gate, used by ship owners and personnel. Erin craned her neck, watching as a huge transport shuttle lifted a short distance away from the road they drove on, weaving between the landing pads and runways to the very back of the huge port, where the Great Fox sat alone.

"This is unreal." Natasha remarked as Erin pulled alongside where Peppy parked and killed the engine. "You park underneath it?" She asked Peppy as she got out.

"Yeah, typically. Makes good use of the space." He glanced around, tallying. "Only car missing is Falco's, but I bet they're in the docking bay. All of Slippy's heavy tools are in there." He gestured for them to follow, walking up the huge ramp easily. They followed dubiously, stopping at the edge of the cavernous lower docking bay and finally allowing themselves to gape.

The press was never allowed to get close to the Great Fox, so what people knew about the ship was little, let alone what the interior looked like. The planes were lined up along one wall, nestled in launch cradles and wrapped in what appeared to be custom covers—apparently the planes were babied like sports cars. In the back, behind a massive pickup, they could see a tank's barrel barely poking out. In an effort to save space, a car towing trailer had been propped against the wall.

And taking center stage was a heavily souped up sports car with the hood open. It was also up on jacks. Peppy wandered directly over and started talking shooting the breeze with three figures, all of which they recognized from the news. Fox was standing in front of the car, Falco was sitting in the driver's seat with the door open, and who they figured was Slippy was under the car.

"My kingdom for a dynometer." Was the first thing they heard as they walked over slowly, the voice belonging to the figure under the car.

"When you hit the lotto." Falco replied dryly. "Unless your dad can somehow hook you up, and I doubt … well. Hell-o ladies!"

Fox turned and all-out stared as Natasha walked up next to him and studied the engine with a not-untrained eye. "Um, Peppy, I'm not complaining, but who are these two?"

"And where did you find them?" Falco added, sliding easily out of the car's driver seat and standing, running his fingers through his feathers automatically.

"Natasha Cane." She smiled at both of them. "Peppy was nice enough to let us tag along."

"Babe, I'd let you tag along any day, anywhere." Falco replied in a somewhat reverent tone, then turned his eyes curiously to Erin, who was studying the interior of the docking bay with interest still.

"Natasha… Cane?" The voice under the car asked, stepping up a half-octive on her last name, then Slippy gave up and pulled himself out from under Falco's car, sitting up and looking at Natasha. "Oh, my god."

"What?" Falco asked, looking at Slippy in confusion.

"If I wasn't covered in oil, I'd go utterly fanboy and beg for your autograph." Slippy said, still looking at Natasha and ignoring Falco completely. Peppy and Fox both did eyebrow lifts. Erin started giggling.

"You get one of our magazines." Nat grinned, crouching on her toes next to Slippy. "Which one?"

"Exotica. And yes, I read the articles too. That's why I recognized your name." Slippy stood, walking over to one of his stands and wiping oil off his hands, which is when he saw Erin and nearly did go fanboy. "And you're Erin Mai, right?"

Erin laughed and nodded.

"What the hell did we all just miss?" Fox asked.

"Erin and I are models, for a wide variety of things. Fashion, on and off, of course, but also a few magazines. Which apparently Slippy here reads." Natasha said, affectionately rubbing Slippy's scalp. Slippy nearly died, as it was, he did practically have his knees go out from under him.

"Are you telling me some good just came out of him subscribing to girlie magazines?" Falco asked in utter disbelief. Peppy did the eyebrow lift again. "And you didn't know?" He shot at Peppy.

"Hey, they said they were models, what was I supposed to do? Ask if they model for Victoria's Secret?" Peppy shot back.

"She does actually." Natasha hooked a thumb at Erin, who smiled and shrugged.

"Hey, it pays well."

"Probably better then our job." Fox said dryly. "So, you're the one Peppy has the number to, who apparently invited us to a picnic and has a goth friend?"

"That's me." Erin grinned at him and gave him a thorough once-over. Not how he'd appeared on the news, not hardly, dressed in a weird fashion mixup—Converse shoes with no socks, those jean shorts she'd seen at Hot Topic with far to many zippers to make sense, and a black t-shirt that cheerfully asked "Got Turbo?" The shirt was tight enough she could see the imprint of muscles, and apparently, piercings. He also had a lot of earrings dangling from only one of his ears. "Are you having self image issues, or do you just grab whatever's handy to dress?" She asked, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

Peppy started laughing.

"I'd say a little from column a, and a little from column b." Falco inserted. "He's only got the shirt on because I was threatening to hurt him with extreme prejudice anyway."

Fox, who was melting in a pool of embarrassment, scowled at Falco. "My winter coat never shed fully out for some messed-up reason, ok? I'm dying here."

"I have feathers, so shut up. Can't be any worse then I have it."

"Ok, should I start the tour?" Peppy asked, looking at Natasha and Erin, figuring if he didn't break this up, someone was ending up in a wrestling match, and with an environment like the docking bay someone'd get hurt.

"You go ahead, I'm having fun." Natasha replied, and Erin glared at her.

"Well, all right." Peppy shrugged and offered an arm to Erin, who shrugged after a moment and took it, letting herself be escorted across the bay and into the ship proper. "Your friend is obnoxious, but I like her." He remarked as they walked down the corridor.

"You have no idea." She snorted. "She can be really sweet, but she has to want to be."

"That's most women in my experience." He replied in a thoughtful tone, turning a corner.

"So what's the story with Fox?"

"I've got some theories. He's caught somewhere between tuner-racer and goth. He loves cars, but hates the wardrobe that comes with it. Really I don't think he's comfortable unless he's flying, whether it be a car or plane." He shrugged. "But that was his dad too. James used to ask me if he was pulling off a normal life ok."

"Did he?"

"While he was around, yeah."

"Do you?"

He stopped and looked at her. She looked back. "No. Not really."

"I shouldn't have asked that…"

"No. It's ok." He stopped and gestured down a hallway. "The ship's living quarters aren't all that large. This hall leads to private quarters and the locker room."

"Not large living quarters, yet you get private rooms?" She poked him in the ribs.

"There's six rooms actually. James figured the team may double in size eventually, and it worked out ok. Four official members and two other people on and off the ship occasionally."

"What do the rooms look like?"

He led her down the hall and slid his door open, letting her look in. The rooms were all pretty basic, and he wasn't here much so his was actually reasonably clean. The floors in the private rooms had Berber carpeting, but that was pretty much the only cut away from the smooth military décor.

"All the rooms are identical?"

"Pretty much, with the exception of maybe being mirrored. Of course the boys' rooms are changed to their tastes, posters and such." He shut the door and led her back down the hall, showing her the weight room and galley, and eventually going up the lift to the Command Deck.

ROB, who'd been in recharge, startled into motion when the door opened, turning and looking at Peppy in surprise. "Hello, Peppy. You aren't normally here when we're not on duty, has something happened?"

"No, not at all ROB, just giving a tour to a friend." Peppy smiled at the robot, feeling Erin look over his shoulder curiously.

"I am a tourist attraction now?" ROB asked, completely deadpan as usual.

"Only in special exceptions, don't worry about it, we're not that desperate for cash. This is Erin, she's a friend of mine."

"Ah." ROB stood and offered one of his bizarre hands. "I am ROB, the ship's AI."

She smiled and shook his hand. "Yes, I saw you on the news I think during the war."

"Yes, I do believe one of the channels had a recording of our radio conversations, though no one's quite sure how they got them. My theory is someone leaked." ROB sat back down in his massive chair like it was a throne, which was at least partly true. "This is interesting. Peppy hasn't brought a friend on board in some time. The others do all the time so I've gotten used to it."

"Oh really?" Erin lifted her eyebrows. Peppy started frantically making "no no no!" gestures behind her back, then studied his nails when she looked at him. "He's antisocial eh?"

"I have my theories." The robot replied peacefully. "I think he only brings the people on board that he wants to impress. The last lady who accompanied him on board he was married to for several years."

"I am having Slippy take your batteries out." Peppy fumed quietly as Erin turned and looked at him, lifting an eyebrow. "And no I swear to God I do not have ulterior motives!"

Erin grinned, and with a few steps, backed him into a wall and pinned him there by leaning on it with one hand on either side of his neck. "Oh really?"

"Um, er, ah… Um.. not to say you aren't very attractive, er…" Peppy trailed into silence and gulped. "You're going to melt my brain Erin."

"Is that good or bad? I bet you haven't had a mental meltdown in ages."

"Mercy?" He pleaded feebly, and was relieved when she laughed and backed off. "God, women are evil."

"Honey, I look sexy for a living, so if I try to vamp you, you're doomed. Shall we?"

He sighed and held out his arm, and managed not to jitter when she took it again, going back to the lift. "And you'd try to vamp me why?"

"I'll let you obsess over that a while." She grinned at him, and he couldn't help but smile back.


	4. Chapter 4: Skins Vs Shirts

Chapter Four: Skins Vs. Shirts.

"So, you remembered to cook right?" Peppy said, sitting on the hood of his idling sedan.

"Yeah I did a desert thing, those cookies Fox loves." Falco said, leaning into the back of his car to make sure said cookies wouldn't go flying. "I think I understand how you feel most of the time, Pep."

"… What do you mean?"

"Like you're pretending to be surrogate mother for the three of us, though god knows we need it…" Falco straightened, then took a good look at him. "Nice outfit."

Peppy looked down at himself, it was casual and summery, but he'd been careful about the colors. "Eh, thanks. Decided I should try to look decent, given what our company is going to be."

"Is it ironic that we're the ones that don't care?" Fox asked, walking up in tennis shoes, jean shorts, and a tank top, which he was still tucking in. "What'd you bring?"

"Three crockpots worth of soup. I had to borrow one of the pots from a neighbor." Peppy rolled his eyes. "Where's Slippy?"

"I'm here." Slippy pulled himself out from under Falco's car.

"Is that, like, your natural habitat or what?" Fox stared at him.

"The sooner he quits clipping curbs, the sooner I can take up residence elsewhere." Slippy replied, wiping oil off his hands. Falco settled for a glare. "You leading this convoy, Peppy?"

"Well, yeah, I'm the only one that knows where to go. Wagons, ho."

Five minutes later, Peppy was pulling out of the space port, leading the two buzzing supercharged beasts and Slippy's huge truck bringing up the rear.

"So, Erin, you invited friends right?" Erin's boss, Nicolas, asked as he assisted setting up tables.

"Yeah, yeah I did, remind me why we're doing this again?"

"We needed a day to relax. And I figure it's a good chance for the press to wander by, give our company a good image."

"You invited the press?"

"Yeah, stills only, no live video, why?"

Erin leaned on the table and stared at Nicolas. "Nick. I invited the Star Fox team to come shmooze with us. Now, what's the press going to think, hmm? When they see the four much-loved mercenaries playing volleyball with a bunch of models?"

"I think the press will think 'Gee, those guys are the luckiest dogs in the universe.'" Nick grinned at her. "Star Fox? How did you manage that, babe?"

"… nevermind, forget I even said it." Erin rubbed her temples.

Natasha wandered up. "I imagine this would be a bad time to mention that Chelsie is tangled in the volleyball net?"

"How in the world?" Nicholas asked blankly.

"It's Chelsea… don't ask, just fix it." Erin said dryly, following Natasha with a sigh. "Upside down, too? Goodness Chelsea, this is worldclass even for you."

"Har de frickin' har, just get me down."

"What has you being such a wet blanket?" Natasha asked as Erin undid the hooks holding the net on one side and Chelsea fell with a satisfying thud.

"I didn't sleep much last night, and I just can't stand mandatory company social things. The whole 'mandatory' thing doesn't make it nearly as fun as it should be, you know?"

"You just like breaking rules." Chelsea said from the ground.

"Maybe."

"Is Peppy coming today?"

"Supposed to be… speak of the devil." She added this when her cell phone went off, looking at the screen. "Hey, Peppy."

"Hey, Erin. I do hope we're still on today?"

"That we are. Most of us are here, still setting up though. You guys?"

"Listen and you tell me."

Erin stared at the phone, then became aware of the increasing noise approaching, the same engine noises she'd heard before. "Hah, funny, doesn't sound like your car Pep."

"Nope, that'd be two of the boys. See you soon."

She hung up and pocketed the phone. "Be right back."

Peppy pulled into the parking spot, getting out and watching with a headshake as Fox and Falco pulled in next to him diagonally, Slippy's truck boxing them in and preventing anyone from trying to squeeze into a partly taken up spot. Not surprisingly, the two both revved their engines, prompting a passing corvette to change lanes spontaneously. "Are you two done?" He asked dryly once they got out.

"Yeah. Slippy, you're recruited, here." Falco stacked two huge plastic containers in Slippy's arms, picking up the other two.

"Hey, guys." Erin said, walking up to them and standing on the sidewalk with a grin. "Anything I can help with?"

"Yeah, grab a crock pot." Peppy said, handing one pot to Fox, who took it with a huff, then passing one to Erin. "So, how many people showed up?"

"Hell, probably forty or fifty total once everyone gets there, about half that right now. We brought volleyball stuff, and who knows what else. We're well prepared."

"That always pays off."

Erin led the group across the park, showing them where to set the food on the tables and smiling when her boss wandered up. "Guys, this is my boss Nicholas."

"I just found out you guys were coming, nice to have you." Nicholas grinned easily, exchanging handshakes. "She still has yet to tell me how she knows you four."

"Peppy's fault." Slippy said. "Anything else we can set up?"

"Most likely, god knows the volley ball net setup defeated most of us…" He smiled and shrugged, divvying up tasks to the four. Fox made it about five steps before stopping in his tracks, locking eyes with Chelsea.

There was a frozen moment as the pair looked at each other, Fox looking awkward in his jean shorts and tank top, fairly gaping at Chelsea, who looked back, eyes flicking down the slightly younger man's build. Fox blushed, scratching the back of his neck, then in a moment of slightly perverse inspiration stuck his tongue out, curling the tip slightly, showing the brilliant neon stud that currently pierced it. Chelsea lifted an eyebrow at this, then grinned and echoed this childish pose, showing her own, which was a smiley, then lifting her shirt farther to show off her pierced belly button. Fox took this as a challenge and turned his head to one side, showing the long line of hoops better.

"What the hell are they doing?" Peppy asked blankly, helping Erin sort through the huge amount of food.

"My theory? The goth version of a pissing contest." Erin replied, covering her mouth to hide the grin. Fox and Chelsea were about twenty feet away, but the effect wasn't lost when Fox stripped waist up, showing his other piercings, then turning to show the gothic wings tattooed into his back. "Lord have mercy! Does that boy body build?"

"Yes, yes he does. Well, strength training actually. Holy crap has she any modesty at all?" He blurted the last sentence when Chelsea also took her shirt off, pointing at the tattoos on both of her upper arms then turning to show the one in the small of her back.

"Nope. She used to be a stripper. She's told me many of a time she absolutely hates clothing." Erin started laughing and applauding when the pair looked at each other, and then traded shirts, Chelsea tucking Fox's tanktop into her shorts and Fox pulling Chelsea's much tighter black concert shirt over his head. "Are you two done yet?" Erin called, waving a salad spoon in the air.

"Maybe." Fox replied as they walked over, both grinning.

"Has the treaty been ratified or what?" Peppy asked rather dryly.

"Well, uh… yes?"

"Good."

"Come on, help me fix the volleyball net!" This said, Chelsea grabbed Fox and towed him off, who sent Peppy a happy but sheepish grin.

"He looks happy." Erin observed, opening one of the crock pots. "And this smells excellent."

"I'm not a bad cook." Peppy replied.

"He can cook better then he can fly a plane, and keep in mind he flies a plane good enough for a mercenary crew." Falco inserted, arriving with an armload of plastic bowls still in package. "Someone help me out here?"

Erin started stacking bowls up on the table next to plates, glancing between Falco and Peppy. As far as glaring differences went, there were plenty: Peppy was shorter, more heavy muscle, and older; while Falco was tall, wiry, and still in his teens. "How'd you end up with Star Fox?"

"Him, or me?" Falco asked, arranging desserts.

"Both?"

"Psh. Right. I come from gangland, inner Corneria City. Never even considered the military really until I ran into Fox on accident, at a tuner convention downtown. Hell he was still in full cadet uniform, had girls all over him." Falco snickered. "He hasn't gotten rid of me since, and I haven't gotten rid of him. It's worked out though, we cover for each other well."

"Sounds like you and Fox know each other well." Erin sat on the table, leaning back on her hands.

"Yeah, I think we do. Honestly, he's a dork."

Peppy started laughing.

"So, what are we doing here again?"

Sylvia sighed and looked at her cameraman, pulled away from his lunch hour and not looking pleased about it. "Just a public interest story. Have you ever heard of the model company Echo?"

"Yeah, they put out Exotica, among other things." He propped the camera on this shoulder, looking at her. "And yeah, I heard about their invitation for reporters and photographers to come to their little get-together, but I thought they were only allowing stills."

"Yeah, but guess what delightful little tidbit of information I found out." She grinned at him, letting down her hair from its scrunchy. "The Star Fox team is also there, apparently as friends. Now, how does that not have 'news worthy' painted on it?"

"Well ok, but I'd feel better if I hadn't also heard stories of Star Fox breaking news cameras. And reporters' noses." He grouched to himself, but followed her out of the van anyway and across the park.

Near another one of the little parking lot, the gathering was in full swing. About half the people were eating, the rest talking or watching the volleyball game. About forty people had turned out from Echo, which meant that a healthy crowd of observers had gathered as well. Nicholas was grinning, in his opinion this was his best idea for a publicity stunt in years.

Not that Erin's friends weren't helping. Even in casual clothing, they were recognized, and the crowd was entertained as the three young members had taken to the skins side of the volleyball net. Peppy was helping dole out food and schmoozing.

"By the way man, we heard about your rescue of Erin." Jacob, one of the guys that was with the company, remarked to Peppy, contentedly on his third bowl of soup. But hell, he'd skipped dessert and snacks all week so he could pig out today. "For the record, thanks, all of us would have been pretty upset if she'd been hurt. "

"She made it sound awesome." Chipped in another model.

"Hah, thanks, but it wasn't hard. It's a pretty simple self defense move, pretty much anyone could pull it off against an attacker." Peppy took a drink from the soda someone had passed him earlier, he was starting to wonder if people thought he ran a catering business.

"Really? You should come by Echo and have a seminar. Show us how to do it so we can defend ourselves." Jacob said, setting his empty bowl down contentidly.

"Oh, I don't know about that.. I'm not a certified instructor." Peppy scratched the base of one of his ears.

"You were offering to teach me." Erin said, walking over with her shirt over her shoulder. She'd also been on the skins side of the volleyball net.

"One on one is one thing, a class is completely another." Peppy protested. "I guess if we kept it small groups I could, but…"

"Done then. What weekday is best for you?"

Peppy looked at Erin and realized his defeat. "You kept your shirt off just as leverage didn't you?" He finally asked, crossing his arms.

"Maybe." She flashed a grin and left to find Nicholas.

"Video camera."

Fox glanced up at Falco. He was sitting on the ground, sharing a piece of pie with Chelsea, who was enjoying the process very much. "What?"

"Video camera." Falco repeated, crouching his toes and pointing. "Looks like a reporter, come to do a video spot. Why wasn't this mentioned?"

"What do you have against cameras?" Fox asked peevishly. "It's not like you have a bad side to complain of or some other typically cliché thing."

"Bah. I just don't like reporters snooping in my business that's all."

"Sounds like to me you're grouchy about most things." Chelsea observed, not surprised when Falco huffed and left the area.

"Yeah, that's about right." Fox admitted. "He counts he's not paid enough to have a sunny disposition, quote end quote."

"Bah. Glad you're not so sour." She ruffled Fox's fur between his ears, prompting a sheepish smile. "I think we'll get along just fine. Oooh! King Diamond, next weekend, you free?"

"You have tickets?"

"That I do."

"I'm there."

"Hey, Peppy, listen.."

"Oh, Falco, good. I'm being harassed into doing a martial arts demonstration and I need someone to spar against."

Falco stopped mid-sentence and just looked at him. "You've gotten good at pre-empting any complaints I have." He finally said.

"Good. So, you up for it?"

"Eh, fine."

Some of the models had already moved tables around, and the volleyball court fully emptied to see what was going on. Falco tried to ignore the camera with a sigh as Peppy started talking to the gathered crowd.

"First of all, those of you have to understand. If I do take on teaching you anything, you won't be anything as glorified as a belt or a rank. I'm going to be teaching you a few moves specifically meant for defending yourself. I'll show you how to disarm and incapacitate your assaulter without causing any permanent damage." Peppy said, crossing his arms and watching in amazement as the group suddenly became a silent and attentive class. Well, maybe this would work. "Second of all, I will not be using these moves against my friend Falco. I doubt he wants anything dislocated today."

"Thanks, Peppy." Falco grumbled, prompting a few chuckles from the crowd.

"Well I don't feel like driving you to the hospital today. I do that enough as it is." Peppy grinned at him and stripped out of his shirt, tossing it to Erin without looking and stepping back into a ready stance, beckoning with both hands. "That said, come on kid, show me what you got!"

Falco sighed, bouncing on his toes, and leapt into motion, lunging at Peppy.

Erin sat on the grass and watched, amazed. For someone who claimed to be overweight, she barely saw it on Peppy, as far as she could tell he was solid muscle, a complete switch from how he'd looked like during the war broadcasts. And Falco, though moving at nearly double the speed Peppy was at any one time, didn't have much of a chance. The small crowd still ate it up though, applauding every throw and cool hit.

After being pitched across the clearing for the fifth time, Falco came to his feet and wove his hands. "I'm done, Peppy, thanks for the public humiliation."

"Not your fault, Air Force typically doesn't get a lot of close-combat instruction." Peppy replied, smiling. "Thanks Falco."

"No problem."

Peppy shook off and walked over to ring of people. "Thanks for holding my shirt, Erin."

"No problem. And now I'm holding it hostage."

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, suddenly very self-conscious. "Give me my shirt, Erin. Please?"

"Nope." She stood and backed up. Everyone else watched this, holding back laughter.

"Erin, have mercy…"

"Not this time. You are NOT overweight! It's all muscle for god's sake! And I am not giving you your shirt back."

Peppy looked at her then lunged. She dodged, and he gave chase.

Fox, who admittedly hadn't been paying attention, looked up when the two ran by. "What the hell was that?" He asked Chelsea.

"As near as we can tell, Erin has a thing for Peppy." She replied. "So she's being devious to try to bait him closer. Probably."

"I do not understand women. Why not just ask him out?" He shrugged.

"True. It's what I just did to you." She grinned, taking the King Diamond tickets out of her purse and holding them up. "Bribery or no."

He looked at her, then started laughing.

"Ok, I give." Peppy said, panting and leaning his hands on his knees. Erin was on the other side of his car, holding his shirt behind her and grinning satanically. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why not?"

"_Erin."_

She continued grinning. "I like you."

"Oh, and that's perfect reason to humiliate me."

"Specification, I like you shirtless."

He blinked at her. "… Oh."

She leaned on top of the car, propping her jaw on her hand and watching him squirm. "Do we need further explanation?"

"We are wondering why you are hitting on us." Peppy hedged.

"I could say 'why not' again…" She smiled at him. "But I just like you. You're charming and funny and nice to Chelsea, which I know takes heroic effort at times."

"And how many years older then you?" He asked blankly.

"As if that really matters?"

He sighed, leaning on the other side of the car and looking at her, folding his arms on the roof. "You have no intention of giving me a choice in the matter, do you?"

"No, not really. I doubt you mind."

"Sadly, I don't." He smiled crookedly. "Can I have my shirt back now?"

"Nope!"

"Oh, for the love of God…"


	5. Chapter 5 : Cars and dinner dates

Chapter Five: Cars and dinner dates

"She asked you out!"

Peppy stopped and looked at Falco. "That shock does a lot of good for my self-confidence you know."

"Couldn't you practically be her dad!"

"She's about to turn twenty-nine actually." Slippy chipped in, finishing hooking up the flatbed trailer to his truck. They both looked at him, so he set his hands on his hips. "What? You know I read the magazines. I pay attention. Her birthday is in less then a month."

"I'll have to remember that I guess." Peppy scratched the back of his head, mulling that over. "Besides, Falco, did you really think I was doomed to be a bachelor?"

"Actually yes."

"Asshole."

"Sorry to interrupt the scintillating conversation again, but how are we going to do this Peppy? You said you have it in an apartment's garage, and I've been to your apartment. I won't have room to flip the truck around and backing in is asking for fender-benders."

That brought Peppy up short, and he blinked. "I guess I could put it in neutral and push it out to the road with help, and just roll it up onto the trailer. I mean, it's short an engine, so it's not as heavy as it should be."

"I'm about to get recruited to assist again aren't I?" Falco asked the room in general.

"Or you can stay with my truck and explain to the rent-a-cops why we're temporarily in a no parking zone." Slippy offered.

"Ok, Pep, let's go shove your car around."

Falco stood in the open garage door, looking at what he could see of the damaged hotrod, which wasn't much. Peppy had pulled a car blanket over it, apparently so he wouldn't have to look at it daily. Still, the fact that the blanket was sagging where the hood would have been was unsettling to him. He'd seen wrecked cars, and he hated it. One of his recurring nightmares was when he'd been forced to walk through a scrapyard, and had nearly shrieked in shared agony when one of the lift claws and plunged into, and killed, an older corvette. Fox drove a driftcar because he loved going fast, Falco did because he loved cars.

"How long has this been sitting here?" Falco asked, watching Peppy undo the lock that held the cover on and kept the curious out.

"Over seven years." Peppy admitted, pocketing the lock and moving to the front of the car. "I lost control on the road and plowed head-on into a telephone pole. The telephone pole won."

"Why did you lose control?"

"Combination three beers and an ESP flash." Peppy grunted, and yanked the cover off, walking alongside the car to pull it totally off.

Falco crossed his arms and stared. Peppy had said the car was gone dashboard forward, and he'd been right. "Did the engine fall or get crushed?" He asked, leaning forward to look in the gap where said engine had once been. The old hotrod's frame hadn't accordioned like modern cars were designed to. Strangely, the side frame had survived unbent as near as he could tell, though the front was pulverized, bent in accordance to the telephone pole.

"Fell. Bolts went." Peppy said, watching as Falco very carefully didn't touch the car. "So, you didn't become a mechanic why?"

"Well, uh, you know how Slippy has this weird sympathy with ROB? How when ROB has servo issues, Slippy feels it for hours after having fixed it?"

"Sure."

"I do the same thing with cars. Looking at this is making my chest hurt."

"And you drift race why now?"

"Fox does."

Peppy leaned on the roof of the old hotrod and looked at Falco. "I thought you were in it before you met him."

"Into tuning, yeah. I did quarter miles. Not drifting."

"You stopped making decisions for yourself when now?"

Falco smiled sadly and shook his head. "There comes a time in one's life, Peppy, when you realize if you're a leader or a crony. I happen to be the latter, and I'm used to that now. It's ok."

"We need to talk later." Peppy decided, unlocking the car and putting it into neutral.

"Yes, dad."

Slippy, who already had the ramp down for the trailer, was sitting on it when he saw the remains of the car trundle out into the road, stopping traffic momentarily as Peppy reached in and spun the wheel to turn it. "What took so long?" He asked, going over to help.

"We were talking, sorry." Peppy said, lining up the car behind the trailer with effort. "So, what do you think, is it saveable?"

"Let's take a look." Slippy easily vaulted what was left of the front of the car and crouched in the empty engine bay. Falco made some uncomfortable noises and looked away, which Slippy ignored, he knew Falco was squeamish about car damage the way most people were squeamish about watching brain surgery. "Oh, this'll be fun."

"I'm not sure whether to smile or worry."

"Well, we'll have to bend the frame back. I'm friends with an autobody shop, so that's taken care of. I've also already started looking for a proper engine. Won't be quickest fix ever, but it's definitely doable. I'd say the paintjob will be the hardest and most expensive part, sadly."

"There goes my savings account." Peppy managed a smile. "Let's get this poor baby on the trailer."

Fifteen minutes later, the car was strapped down and the trailer ready to roll, Peppy having put the car blanket in the trunk of his sedan.

"So, what color are you going to have it painted? The dark blue's ok, but not very flashy." Falco said, pondering the Roadrunner again.

"Well, it's not going to be red." Peppy replied flatly. "Or orange. I'd sooner scrap it then paint it orange." Falco winced.

"How about lime green? That always looks good on fast cars." Slippy suggested.

"Oh, hell no." Falco protested. "Overdone."

"Black." Peppy said suddenly. "And I always wanted a flame paintjob."

"Also overdone but I don't figure you'll let me argue."

Slippy and Falco got back in the truck, and Peppy followed in the sedan, not surprised when instead of the Spaceport, Slippy went straight to the bodyshop. The half-hour exchange that followed was mostly a debate on prices, and Peppy sighed, swiping his debit card to put a deposit down. On the up hand, apparently they owed Slippy, because once the car was whole, they said they'd do the paintjob for free.

"So welcome back into the hot rod community." Slippy said. "How do you feel?"

"Like I'm going to be broke." Peppy replied dryly, prompting laughter from all those nearby, including the mechanics.

Peppy sighed, looking up at the skyscraper. It was an office complex, and from the outside, you wouldn't figure at the people renting here. He shrugged and walked in, looking at the extensive list of businesses, noting that Echo had three floors to itself. He shrugged and went into the elevator, hitting the button for the first floor the held.

A few minutes later he was stepping into a posh greeting area, where a few attractive folks were waiting and reading magazines, and a well-aged (but older then him, near as he could tell) woman sat at the receptionist's desk, smiling at him when he appeared. "Help you?"

"Yeah, I'm here to meet Erin Mai, for reasons she didn't fully explain to me." He replied, walking over and leaning on the counter comfortably. Those in the waiting area looked up in surprise.

"Ah, right. You must be Tyler. Go right in."

He smiled and passed the desk, going around the elegant screens that separated the lobby from the rest of the floor, only to stop and stare around in bewilderment. Nicholas didn't pull any stops, everything looked expensive, including most of the people, several of which wove at him.

"Um, excuse me?"

He turned and smiled. "Yes?"

"Who are you here to see?" A mouse, who had the look of a well-promoted office worker, was holding a clipboard and looking harried. A pencil was behind one ear, in spite of the pen tapping the clipboard.

"Erin Mai."

The mouse nodded, looking at the clipboard. "Her shoot is running long, I can show you to the employee lounge if you like and pass it along. We generally don't allow, ah…"

"Civilians?" He provided.

"Yes, exactly, civilians on the shoots."

"That's fine. You are?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I said." The mouse replied, sounding grumpy.

"My nickname is Peppy. Try me."

The mouse looked at him and sighed. "Drax Jantosh."

"That's not a bad name."

"If you say so."

Drax opened a door, revealing a cushy lounge with coffee already made. "I'll tell her you're here."

"Ok, thank you kindly Drax."

"Peppy's here?" Erin blinked at Drax, then swatted the make-up artist nearby. "I do NOT need eyeliner!"

"Nicholas said…"

"Nicholas can bite me! I don't wear make-up except what's required for the cameras, and he knows it."

Drax didn't so much as bat an eye. His position here had once been as an intern, but he'd graduated from journalism school some time ago, and interestingly enough Echo had offered him a good salary to help keep the wheels greased. Some days he felt like the glorified bastard child of a secretary and a gopher, but the job did have its perks. "Yeah, about twenty minutes ago. Last I saw he was trouncing Natasha at chess."

"That figures. Damn… I never did decide what I wanted to do today…"

"Date?"

"Friendly kidnapping."

"Right. Well if you aren't wanting to do dinner, I have a suggestion." Drax waited as she berated the make-up artist then the cameraman without blinking, and declared she was done for the day. They didn't argue, the shoot was technically done and she wasn't bound by contract to do bonus shots.

"Do tell."

"Guys like showing off their knowledge. If you don't think it'll bore you, I imagine he knows the Air Zoo well."

"Air Zoo? A museum is an odd place for a date…"

"They also happen to have an excellent restaurant."

She blinked and appraised Drax, who just smiled at her. "Alright. I'll give it a go. Thanks."

"You can make your thanks known in some breadsticks next time you go for pizza."

"Done deal." She shook on it.

Three hours later, she had to admit it had been a good idea. The restaurant had been good, styled after a diner, the food hadn't been fancy but it had been good, if maybe a little greasy. She had been looking at one of the planes parked just outside the restaurant when Peppy had ponied up information about it. The thing was, he wasn't boring, and he didn't drone like a tour guide did. He provided the bizarre tidbits of information, the weird history associated with the machines. He was in fact so in the know that by the time they were halfway through their walk through the museum, they had a small crowd trailing them.

"Not just a job, eh?" She asked, listening as he pointed out the nose art of one huge bomber, which had a tally system encoded in it.

"I pay attention. I mean, when you're Air Force, this becomes a little more then history. It's like owning a Corvette but respecting the Model T." He replied cheerfully. "Not boring you am I?"

"You're better then the tour guide they have here." Provided one of the crowd.

"No, not at all. You certainly know how to make it interesting, anyway."

He smiled easily at her. "Thanks. I should probably stop rambling about old war machines now though, or we'll be here another hour easily."

"Fair enough."

Peppy saluted the crowd casually, then offered his arm to Erin, who giggled at took it, walking with him back toward the entrance. "So, what shall we do now?" She asked cheerfully as they walked across the parking lot.

"I've been wanting to ask you a question actually." He replied, stopping and turning toward her, then pointed at her chest. She looked down and realized he was indicating her necklace. "You're always wearing that, even in the modeling pictures I've seen of you. Its cloisonné, isn't it?"

"Oh, well…" She took off the necklace and held it out to him. "My mother got it for me when I was really little, a custom jewelry artist made it. Since my mother died in a car wreck years ago, it's really precious to me. It's a contract stipulation for me; people wanting me as a model have to let me wear it if I want to."

He took it and studied it. It was a silver butterfly pendant, maybe two inches across at the widest point and on a thin silver chain. The front of the pendant had been enameled deep blue, with touches of black on the butterfly's body. Small sapphires adorned the edges of the wings. He flipped it over, and saw the artist's mark in one corner. "This is nicely made. Very beautiful." He handed it back to her.

She smiled at him, a real, surprised smile. "You know a good bit about jewelry."

"Yeah, reluctantly. My ex-wife loved jewelry, and loved nearly bankrupting me to buy it." He sighed, offering his arm again as they continued across the blacktop.

"I was trying to work up the courage to ask about that." Erin finally said, unlocking her roadster and getting in. Peppy got in passenger side easily. "I remember ROB mentioning it, but I could never find a good time to ask, you know?"

"That's all right, do you still want to know?" He glanced at her.

"If you don't mind telling me."

Peppy sighed, turning his eyes back toward the windshield. "I've been divorced eight years."

"That long?"

"Yes, admittedly. It wasn't completely a surprise either, sadly. Her name is Celeste." He took out his wallet and leafed through it, finally digging the picture out of the back. "And the sad thing is, even though I got all the pictures off the walls, all her possessions out of my apartment, I could never bring myself to get rid of this." He passed it to her.

She took it and glanced at it, then blinked. Another rabbit, no real surprise she supposed, young and beautiful, glancing over her shoulder. "This was a while ago, I take it?"

"Yeah, from just after I met her. A dance club near the military base I was staying on. This was from before I was with Star Fox, mind you." He shrugged vaguely. "She was beautiful, and charming, and I was pretty much whipped from the beginning. Or so James told me more then once, but I gave him equal amounts of shit about his wife later, so we both pretty much laughed about it then."

"You loved her a lot."

He blinked at Erin, then nodded once. "Yes, yes I did."

She passed the picture back. "What happened, then?"

"I joined Star Fox, which she didn't mind. As said, she had a taste for some of the finer things, especially jewelry. What she DID mind was my suddenly random schedule. I would be gone for weeks, then home for just as long or longer, and my income was just as random. That, and she at the time really wanted a family, and wasn't getting one with me. Doctors never nailed that down." He shook his head. "So I come back from a mission, and the apartment has been cleaned out. I get the divorce papers two days later."

Erin yanked the car off the road and stared at him. "Are you serious? She did that to you?"

"Very serious. Hell, Fox remembers that because of how freaked out I was for weeks, was placed out of service with Star Fox for quite a while." He sighed, putting his fingers to his temples, shaking off the blurriness at the edge of his vision. Erin seemed surprised when he promptly produced a bottle of painkillers from his pocket and swallowed two of them dry. "But as said, it wasn't a surprise. We'd been fighting, she wanted me to return to the normal military or get a desk job somewhere, and I didn't really want to do either. I'd gotten used to the freedom of Star Fox, and a desk job meant I was out of the air for good. So I tried to compensate. I gave her advanced warning, as much as I could anyway, about missions, and tried to keep myself closer to home. Too little, too late I guess."

"She knew you were military, and got mad for you being away from home?" She asked incredulously.

"Something like that, yes, and now is married to a two-star General. Pure Celeste in logic, let me tell you." He chucked weakly. "But I don't want to make her seem like a villain, I was far from perfect. I've never exactly been the accommodating sort, and the fact that I have ESP weirded her out, frankly."

"You, not accommodating? Ha. And beyond knowing you have it, how could it bother her?" She frowned. "You said it's wandering, so I don't understand how…" She stopped when he just smiled at her, and it had a wicked edge to it. "You are not possibly saying…"

"I didn't say anything." He replied with a snicker.

"But how…? Wouldn't she have to be…?"

"I don't get the details myself, something to do with state of mind I'm told. And no."

"So if we…"

Peppy gave her an incredulous look. "Are we to that point already?"

"No, wiseass. I'm saying theoretically."

"I don't know." He replied honestly. "According to what I've read, psychics of any sort are naturally more compatible with some people then others. James and I were like that… just by being around him, I never had to deal with psi flashing. He leveled me out somehow." He shrugged. "Celeste hated hearing me in her head. She told me she found out some things about me she didn't like, and never told me what."

Erin looked at him for a long moment, and saw he was being honest. She remembered over the years all the press that Star Fox had gathered, so she supposed she could understand his ex-wife being angry for his absences. She sighed and leaned over, pulling him closer to they were eye to eye, noses nearly touching. "I won't do that to you. I like you for who you are, Tyler."

"So did Celeste." He whispered in reply, trying very hard not to let his hackles spike up at the touch of her hands on his shoulders and neck.

"Oh, love of the gods. You completely gave up after her, didn't you?" When he didn't reply, she sighed and kissed his cheek. "Ok, this is our goal for this week. We're going to work you past this. Alright?"

"What are you, my therapist?" He protested peevishly.

"Nope, I'm your girlfriend. One step better then a therapist." She grinned at him, and he mustered a smile in return as she pulled back into traffic.

"You won't believe the amount of crap the boys are giving me this by the way." He finally said. "Especially Falco."

"Fox is too busy following Chelsea like a lost puppy, and Slippy is still moonstruck. Am I right?" She glanced at him with a grin.

"Actually that's fairly accurate." He replied thoughtfully, and she laughed.


	6. Chapter 6: Publicity

_Author's note: Sorry this took so long, I had to format my computer not long ago, and lost chapter progress. Onward._

_---_

Chapter Six: Publicity

Peppy set his laundry aside when the phone rang, picking up the old corded model from its setting in the wall. He'd shut the cell phone off while it was recharging, and that narrowed down who could call him. Which was good, this phone didn't have caller ID. "H'lo."

"Hey. Ty-LER!"

"Hi Tony." He leaned on the wall. "What's up?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing yet, why?"

"Bowling night, man!"

He looked at the calendar. "Oh, right. I completely forgot about that."

"Bring the chick with the stripey tail." He suggested cheerfully, clocking out from work and sharing a grin with a passing cop coming on duty.

"Hah. Right. And you assume I'm friends with her? For shame." Peppy clicked his tongue, walking around the corner and getting a bottle of water out of the fridge.

"You made the paper, man."

Peppy stopped, the fridge still open. "Run that by me again?"

"You made the frickin' newspaper, Metro section. Full color picture, both your names attached to it. Erin Mai." Tyler whistled appreciatively. "What pheromone supplement are you on to land a lingerie model, and where can I buy some?"

"Oh, now that is just insulting." Peppy replied peevishly, finally closing the fridge. "Aren't they supposed to ask before running photos?"

"Apparently not. Don't you get the city paper?"

"I do, but I haven't gotten it yet. I doubt I'm living this down."

"Well. Come bowling with us, and bring her with. Hell, bring the boys with too, I'm sick of telling the guys stories and not having much to back it up with."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Right. Right. I'll call you back."

"Be there."

He hung up and returned to his laundry, stared at it for a second, and stormed out of his apartment, going down to the mailboxes with a growl. He made the paper, and the newspaper didn't even have the courtesy to call him and ask if he wanted to be. He appreciated his privacy, after all.

A few minutes later, he had his mail pinned under his arm and was looking at the Metro section of the paper. Sure enough, he and Erin had made the cover, and it was a fairly nice picture. He had to wonder how it had been taken without them noticing. They were sitting in the diner, she was talking and he was comfortably slouched, drinking a soda and obviously listening to her. The blurb beneath wasn't much, just said who they were and where they'd been seen.

Well, hell.

"It's a nice picture for what it's worth."

He glanced up from it and mustered a smile for one of his neighbors, a younger man never seen out of suits and without a briefcase. "Hello, Rich. Kind of an embarrassing thing."

"Perhaps. I didn't even know who she was until I put it into a search engine online."

"Probably brought up some interesting pictures." Peppy said begrudgingly. "I've honestly never seen any of them either."

"Hey, you don't have to defend yourself from me." The yuppie smiled at him easily. "I say good catch. May want to call her though."

"Probably." He agreed, tucking the paper under his arm and making a beeline back for his apartment.

Erin sighed when her cell phone finally got through to Peppy's, staring at the newspaper. Nick wasn't very pleased, she was a contracted model after all: people were supposed to have to PAY to even take pictures of her. The newspaper in question had done some proper kowtowing, so she'd been let off after getting a small talking-to.

"Hi Erin." Peppy's voice said. "Interesting newspaper today."

"Yeah. My boss wasn't too happy, but I didn't get in trouble."

"That's good."

"So what are we going to do about it."

"Unfortunately, there is a little thing called 'freedom of press.' So, I'm going to take a note from my superiors." Peppy sat down on the couch. "If anyone ambushes us and asks about it, we'll just say "No comment." Or, at most, "It's private.""

"You sure we can reduce it to that? They won't like it."

"They can hardly force anything out of us. Yeah, we've had our share of fame, but that doesn't mean we have to take being hassled by paparazzis." He snorted. "On another note, remember Tony?"

"The cop, right? The one you lost money to in poker." She grinned, hearing him wince even through the phone.

"Yeah, well, it's bowling night and he suggested I invite you."

"Bowling? Well that's an interesting date idea."

"And a chance for you to dress like the rest of us. Wear jeans and a t-shirt, bowling alleys are always full of cigarette smoke." He suggested. "You know how?"

"I used to bowl with my family when I was little, but I haven't since my mom died."

"Well, it'll be therapy for the both of us then. You in?"

"Well hell. Sure."

"Want me to pick you up?"

"Yeah, I'll give you directions to my house. The boys coming?"

"Maybe."

"Alright then."

Peppy pulled up in front of the little house and leaned on his open car door, looking at it. It was a little cottage, in a neighborhood of the sort, all old enough to be eccentrically added on to. No two were the same now. The yard was kept up, and the mailbox was custom, a nymph was holding it up. He shrugged and went up the walk, pressing the bell after a moment. He was about to ring it again when he heard shouting from the back of the house, then the door was opened to Erin still wet, only half-dressed and with her hair up in a towel.

"Don't ask." She advised.

"Um. Ok." He replied, nearly floored by her in a lace bra. "No complaints."

"Eyes up here, mister. You can come in."

He stepped into the entryway, and she closed the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, looking around. She was remodeling on her own, apparently. Furniture had been moved around, and a wall was half-painted, a can with dipstick still sitting in the hall.

"I bought this place a few months ago." She called, having already disappeared into the back portions of the house. "Has a serious case of the uglies, though. Been painting and whatnot in my spare time. I mean, I could have someone else do it, but it wouldn't feel right."

"I admire that." He called back, stepping into the living room. It had already been repainted, and the hardwood floors had been restored, thick bright rugs covering the floor. The furniture was mostly antique, and all eclectic. "I admire your taste in decorating."

"It's colored mostly by my mom. Her picture is on the mantle."

He walked over and looked obligingly. It was an old picture, Erin was about five in it, being pushed on a swing. "You talk about her a lot."

"I don't mean to, but she raised me. Dad left, and grandma took over when mom died." Erin stepped back into the room, now in a shirt and still drying her hair.

"I'm sorry. That couldn't have been easy for you."

She shrugged. "It made me independent… and ugh. Should I cut my hair?"

"Definitely not. Come here."

She did, and he dried it off for her, then relieved her of the comb and stepped behind her, easily removing the tangles. She murmured, leaning into it. "You've done this before."

"I was married, remember?" He ponytailed her hair then handed her the comb. "Ready to go?"

"Yep. Any of the boys coming?"

"Just Falco."

"That's fine, I like Falco. He's a wiseass."

"One of the many things he does very well…"

Falco wove to Tony, kicking off his sneakers. "Hey Tony."

"I think you hang out with us more then the old man does."

"It's possible. Peppy's gone to ground a lot lately… I think he's brooding." Falco shrugged, waving at the guy behind the counter, who tossed him a pair of bowling shoes. "Besides, you guys are great."

"I can't get over the irony of a former gang member hanging out with a bunch of cops, though."

"I like cops. Note, all my shots fired were at the other gangs. Not at you guys."

"Most genial arrests ever were the ones made on you, I'm told."

"Har de har. He bringing Erin?"

"Maybe. He never called me back… well speak of the devil." Tony leaned back in his seat and grinned, then stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled two piercing notes.

Peppy wove and strolled over, Erin walking beside him. "Well, you harassed me into it. Boys, this is Erin Mai, a good friend of mine. Erin, you've met Tony and Falco."

Erin smiled cheerfully and wove at the group of men, various races and ages, who grinned and wove back. Most appeared to be off-duty cops, and seemed impressed that she was there. "Hey guys."

"The tiger in the back is Max, the canine is Stephen, and the ferret is Adam." Peppy said, then glanced around. "Where's the new guy?"

"Late as usual." Replied a voice behind him, and a kid not much older then Falco joined the others, sitting to unlace his boots. "I'll introduce myself, thanks, I'm Marcus."

"The kid." Stephan said dryly. Marcus threw a boot at him then continued putting bowling shoes on.

Peppy rolled his eyes and stepped over to the shoe counter, Erin still following him. "Sorry if you're regretting this."

"Baby, I'm used to men looking at me like I'm a choice meal." Erin rolled her eyes, smiling, and passed her size on to the guy behind the counter. He set another pair of shoes alongside the ones he got for Peppy. "So these are the guys you usually hang out with?"

"When I'm not busy, usually. Most of my friends from high school went into the police force, or the military. The police was the safer option, it seemed."

She nodded, understanding what he meant. She knew a lot of troops, air force and ground forces alike, had died during the war. Hell, a few people at her company had been reservists and had been lost.

"So how did he meet you?" Marcus asked, watching her sit and untie her tennis shoes. She wasn't arrogant, he decided, but she definitely knew she was a looker. Every movement accented her.

"He rescued me." She replied, tying the bowling shoes. "I have a guy stalking me, Peppy interceded on my behalf."

"That's about right." Peppy admitted, taking his bowling ball out of the bag and setting it on the machine with the others. "I pinned the guy and called Tony, who immediately tried to recruit me into the police force, of course."

"I still think you made a mistake." Tony tched.

He set his hands on his hips. "Kiss my fluffy ass, ok Tony? I like my job."

Erin started giggling, and wandered down the racks, finally scooping up a ball she could handle comfortably and returning to the two lanes the group was using. By the time she was back, a round of drinks had already appeared. She took a drink of her soda, and stared at it, then at Peppy. "How did you…?"

"Did I what?" He asked.

"Know what soda I drink?"

"You ordered it when we went out for pizza." He stood, adding himself on to one of the scoreboards, then put "Smexy" below his name. She stood up, slapped him upside the head, and deleted it out, putting her name in. "Hey, ow. What, it's ok when you put it in, but I can't?"

"So the real Peppy is obnoxious, eh?"

He frowned at her, suddenly a bit worried. "Can be."

"Single. For eight years." Tony said, sitting backwards in a chair and watching them both, grinning wickedly.

"Yeah, he told me, so?" Erin glanced at him.

"Oh, Tony, have mercy on me…" Peppy begged, knowing that mercy was not to be had with this group.

"What, you haven't figured him out yet? He's a hare. A rabbit. But he's a mix, and the other heritage is lion." Tony ticked these off on his fingers, smiling, tail swiping back and forth. "Yeah, he's a great guy, but he's wired tighter then a clockspring because he draws from two races that are naturally, well.. randy."

Peppy moaned and cupped his face in his hands. "I am so regretting coming to bowl, thanks Tony. Rub it in."

"Oh, I am. Mind you it's not your divorce I'm rubbing in, it's the fact that you never bothered dating afterwards. And yes, I know, you're going to kick my ass later."

"They always give you this much shit?" Erin looked at Peppy, and blinked. He was dismayed, but obviously used to it.

"Yeah, why do you think I was taking like a month off from them? We're great friends, but we drive each other mad. It's what friends do, near as I can tell."

"Yeah, pretty much." Falco said, then slung his ball down the lane. He didn't bowl normally, instead he did the style where the ball is cradled, and thrown to backspin its way around the lane. And he barely knew out to do it, so he promptly cussed a torrent because he'd thrown a gutter ball.

"I guess I can agree with that." Erin finally said, looking at the group of cops, who looked back genially. "So, you antagonize him to bring me, and now antagonize him about his many years single. I understand why men aren't normally matchmakers now."

"For what it's worth, I don't participate in the antagonizing." Marcus remarked.

"That's because Edgar Allan Poe had a better sense of humor then the kid does, mind you." Stephan said. Marcus threw the other boot at him.

Erin tapped her fingers on her chin thoughtfully, then turned to Peppy. "Be obnoxious as you want, ok? Just realize I'll be dealing it back in spades."

He grinned at her, obviously relaxing. "Babe, I can deal with that just fine."

"Good, prepare to deal." That said, she grabbed his shirt and yanked him to her, coiling her arms around the back of his neck as she kissed him solidly. He startled, then melted into it, arms locking behind her back. She could hear the appreciative laughter and applause of the boys, vaguely, but found herself not caring. Peppy was the one to break it off and gape at her, still hugging her close.

"Ok. What was that for?"

"To make them shut up. It's my turn, big guy."

"… Alright then." He smiled and let her go, flopping in one of the chairs and giving everyone else a smile and a shrug. They laughed again and shook their heads, Tony reaching over and messing Peppy's fur on his scalp up.

The rest of bowling session was spent in good, if sometimes dirty, humor. Peppy mostly sat back and watched, contenting himself with watching it all unfold around him. It was hours later, when he was driving Erin home, when his brain finally got around to analyzing what had happened that day.

"I love your friends. You know some great people." Erin leaned across the passenger seat and messed up the fur on his scalp, smiling.

"Yeah, I do." He admitted. "Listen, Erin… about that kiss…"

"What about it?"

"Did you mean that?"

Erin slouched against the passenger door, crossing her arms and looking at him. "I haven't exactly made a secret about the fact that I've liked you since I met you."

"Well, yes, but… I guess it just seems abrupt."

"Hun, taking you to bed the day I met you would have been abrupt." She waited for him to stop sputtering, then continued. "To that end, I do like how things are going. It just seemed you really needed the ego boost, and I wanted to anyway."

"And the guys shut up, at least for the most part."

"Right."

Peppy was quiet for a few moments, focusing back on the road as he exited the highway. Maybe the guys were right and it's just been too long for him. Lord, no "maybe" there, he almost felt like he was dealing with an alien. And hellfire, his basis of comparison was his EX-wife, who had apparently taken no small pleasure in sticking it to him in the divorce. Ok, she hadn't left him broke, but still…

He sighed and looked at Erin out of the corner of his eyes, who saw the look at stuck out her tongue at him. He felt himself smile, a relaxed warmth settling through the back of his mind as the psychic-caused tension eased out. For the first time in years, he felt like he was letting someone in, and he felt happy about it.

"So. When the news asks, we say 'no comment'?" Erin finally asked.

"Damn straight." He grinned at her, and she returned it.


	7. Chapter 7: Boy toys, stir fry, and

Author's note: sorry it took so long.

Chapter Seven: Boy toys, stir fry, and a word from our sponsors…

Peppy got out of his car and stared. He couldn't really help it. Fox's car was parked crookedly across the docking bay, not the neat angle he and his friends usually parked at, but more like it had been left there. In fact, one of the doors hung open, but that was better explained when he saw Falco rooting around in the car. "Dare I even ask?" He inquired, walking up to the car.

Falco sighed, straightening and leaning on the top of the open car door. "He had a concert last night, remember?"

"Yes indeed."

"He just got back two hours ago."

Peppy looked at his watch. "It's ten in the morning."

"Yeah."

"Boy, he must have had fun."

"Yeah, he's passed out on the command deck, said something about checking his messages and was out like a light. I decided to come down here and make sure he hadn't left his car running."

"Had he?"

"Nope, but the keys were in the ignition. Locked in."

"You have a spare key?"

Falco gave Peppy a look.

"Oh, right. So what are you doing now?"

"Holding his keys hostage until I get some very gory details out of him, and cleaning out his car. I've found three shirts, none of which probably fit him, and lots of empty soda bottles." Falco looked at the stack by his feet. "Sadly, no really incriminating evidence."

Peppy gave a snort of laughter, and wandered up to the command deck, Falco following him. Fox was indeed sprawled asleep in his usual chair, fingers laced behind his head and smiling. A brand new shirt—King Diamond, the band he'd gone to see—had been pulled on over his other t-shirt, and his jeans had powdered sugar on them. Peppy had guessed he and Chelsea must have gone out for donuts. His eyes traced back up, and he blinked. "Ok, I count three different shades of lipstick on his cheeks, and maybe a forth on one of his ears."

"Now you see why I'm holding his car keys hostage." Falco replied.

Peppy looked at Falco, then shook his head. "We need to get some work or the testosterone overdose is going to kill you."

"What's THAT supposed to mean?" He sniveled. "Besides, in case you haven't noticed, there's no wars on and we don't run black ops."

Peppy huffed and sat down. "That was just honesty, I think we're all getting bored, and given another month all our savings accounts are going to start being tight."

"Mine already is."

"Stop buying car stuff."

"Not likely. And what ideas do you have? I mean, I'd practically rather work retail then go back to the honest military."

"You'd almost make more money in retail anyways these days." Peppy scratched below one of his ears, grinning when Fox's tail started twitching. Good dreams, apparently. "We could always call Caroso, he said he'll always have jobs for us, and he does good business."

Falco's indignant scream woke up Fox, in fact made him fall out of his chair. ROB came out of recharge briefly, saw no ax murders were taking place, and went back into recharge mode. "CAROSO! Peppy, are you mad?" Falco was waving his arms above his head. "He's a bounty hunter!"

"Which is different from us being mercenaries how?" Peppy wanted to know. "It's groundwork, sure, but it's good money."

"What the hell is going on? What about Al?" Fox asked groggily from the floor. "What the hell is Falco screaming about? What time is it?"

Peppy shook his head. Alphonse "Panther" Caroso was an old "friend" of the team's, and had been one of the pilots on standby during the war. He'd been Air Force, and like Peppy had gotten into martial arts more then most pilots. After the war released, he somehow got a loan—popular bullshit had that it was from the mob—and started a business. Security and bounty hunting, specifically, the perps who the cops would rather not lose SWAT teams over. He was good at it, too, turned a good paycheck and had cheerfully told them they were always welcome to work there. "Ten in the morning, Fox."

"How long have I been out?"

Falco ignored the question. "Peppy suggested we go work for Caroso to turn a paycheck." He informed Fox, still sniveling.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Peppy wanted to know.

"Al's a nice guy." Fox said, still half asleep.

"He hits on me!" Falco was about ready to rip out his feathers.

"He hits on anything with a pulse. What, do you flirt back?" Fox wanted to know.

"NO!"

"Then what's the problem?"

Falco was silent for a full ten seconds, gaping at him. "How does that not bother you?"

"Because Bill always hits on me. Since we were, oh, thirteen. Even though he knows I'm straight." Fox fully slid to the floor, on his back, staring at the ceiling. "My mind is made up of mush right now… Peppy, you talk to Panther, ok?"

"Sure. By the way, why is there like four colors of lipstick on you?"

Fox lifted a hand to his cheek and started to laugh. "Oh. Yeah, that. Chelsea and I got out of the concert and were wired, and she asked if we could drop by where she used to work so she could say hi, and we were close, so I said sure why not. They thought I was, and I quote, absolutely adorable."

Falco looked at Peppy, who was shaking his head in amazement, but still asked, "So what are you, boyfriend? Boy toy? Stuck as a friend?"

"Boy toy, I think." Fox grinned, unashamed. "What, Falco, jealous?"

"Ok, girls she used to work with? I knew she was a model, but what did she do before?"

"Apparently, a stripper, pretty upscale place too." Fox whistled.

"Lord almighty." Falco said this rather reverently. "Yes, I am jealous."

"Dude, what happened to Katt? She's hot as hell."

"Yes, yes she is, but she, um, lets say I have a disagreement with her claws." Falco shook off.

Fox sat up and pointed at him. "That's what happened to your back a few months ago?"

Falco just looked at him and shook his head.

"Cat scratch fever." Peppy had to grin, life as usual with this group. "So, you do want me to talk to Al, Fox?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, I will. Go to bed."

Fox staggered to his feet and wobbled off, humming to himself.

"Boy, he must have had a fun night." Falco said in an awestruck voice. "Hell, I don't even think he paid for anything."

"I think that's what 'boy toy' entails." Peppy replied. "So, seriously, are you going to have an aneurism if I get us jobs with Caroso?"

"As long as he refrains from touching me, I guess I can deal with it."

"Oh, let me guess, something new and expensive for your car?"

"Shut up, you."

Peppy was leaning on his car, pondering what to do about lunch, when his phone rang, and he grinned at the 'sexy model chick' tag. "Hi, Erin."

"Hey, Pep. What you up to?"

"Not much, I have a meeting after dinner though."

"Oh, who with?"

"A friend of the group, regarding ground work." He replied honestly. "And if you see Chelsea, tell her Falco and I are absolutely reverent of the job she did on Fox."

"Oh god, what did she do?"

Peppy laughed and gave her a description of the state Fox, and his vehicle, had been in, as well as the approximate time he'd rolled in. By the end of it, Erin was also laughing. "Yeah, she's obviously not being serious about him, but he's not complaining at all."

"Would you?"

"I don't know, never been in a status to be a 'boy toy.' He got in his car, still pondering. "I haven't eaten lunch yet, want to make it a date?"

"Sure, where do you want to eat?"

"How about I cook for us? I'm not incredibly hungry, so I could let meat marinate a while for you if you aren't."

"Aren't you a vegan?" She asked, voice incredulous.

"Yeah, I do cook meat though, I mean I live with a bunch of omnivores on the ship. I'm vegan by biology, not by choice." He didn't add on he'd been through the hospital three times in the last few years for saying screw it and eating meat anyway, he'd been sick and miserable and grinning the entire time. "What kind of meat do you prefer?"

"I'm a sucker for red meat, lean though."

"You got it, want directions to my apartment?"

Erin stood on the sidewalk briefly, looking up the flight of stairs. The apartment complex was one of those two-story spread out setups, where the majority of the doors led to open air, not hallways. Peppy had been nice enough to tell her where guest parking was, and after a moment she climbed up the cement stairs and rang the bell, trying to figure out why she was nervous. Him coming to her house hadn't bothered her, but her going to his seemed like unfamiliar territory somehow.

Peppy answered, and she blinked, he was wearing jean shorts that went past his knees and a button-up short-sleeved shirt, one hand on the door and the other hooked into a belt loop, a kitchen knife loosely held in that hand. "Hey, glad you found the place."

"It wasn't hard, you're not far from one of the main drags." She replied, stepping in and glancing around as he shut the door behind her.

"It's not much." He said, voice apologetic. "Nothing like your house."

"Are you kidding, this is a nice apartment." She said it honestly, trailing him into the kitchen. It was, a spacious one-bedroom from what she could tell. The furniture was mixed, and while the place was neat, it was obvious the only resident was male. Lonely nails still were sunk in the walls, pictures long-ago removed. The pictures remaining were the frames that allowed for many snapshots, or framed newspaper clippings. Near the balcony windows a huge empty gap of carpet stood alone, no furniture, no pictures.

"Meat's marinating, I was chopping veggies when you rang the bell." He spoke absently, finishing up with a bell pepper as she watched. "You partial or impartial to spice?"

"Some is fine, no five-alarm fires though."

"Doable, you'll have to test the meat as I cook it though. That's the only problem with me cooking meat, I can't exactly taste-test it." He set the bell pepper slices aside and checked the marinating meat. "Probably start in another fifteen minutes."

"Alright." She glanced over at the blank patch of carpet. "What used to be there?"

"My grand piano."

She looked at him, then the door, then the balcony doors. "You had a grand piano? How did you fit it in through the doors?"

He smiled at her. "It was a baby grand, and very carefully."

"Wiseass."

"It was a present from my ex-wife's parents, so I lost it in the divorce. I guess I should have been glad she didn't go after my car or demand alimony."

"So that's why you were in the music shop." She lifted her eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, I know the shopkeeper, and I've been saving money back for one for a while, but I keep having to dip into the account for other reasons. I just hit it up again for car repairs for my roadrunner." He sighed, going back into the kitchen and looking in the fridge. "Want something to drink?"

"Fizzy water?"

He tossed her one, taking out a sports drink for himself. "You're the first girl I've had here in a while, besides various girlfriends of the boys."

"Fox struck me as a bachelor."

"He'll be married and still act like that I'm sure. Falco's the player, when he wants to be. Slippy is struck with the common side-effects of geekdom, he's been nagging the other guys to set him up for ages, I doubt that'll ever happen though." Peppy leaned back against the counter, taking a drink and watching as she studied his stove, including looking in the empty and off oven. "Um, dare I ask?"

"Admiring it, this is nice, what'd it cost you, nine grand?"

"Lots, and that was several years ago, as said I used to cook a lot. I laid off so I can lose some weight."

"You look fine." She said without looking at him, flicking one of the burners on and off.

"Oh, so convincing." He snickered, taking another drink then setting the bottle on the counter. "If I ever did that to my ex, she'd have flayed me."

"What, you want convincing?" She stood, dusted off her hands, and stepped over, hooking her hands into the front of his shirt and tugging him down to her level. "You look fabulous, dah-ling."

"Now you're just hamming it up." He said, unable to hide his laughter.

"Ah, but I'm telling the truth." She kept one hand curled into his shirt, tapping his nose with the other. "You do."

He managed a sheepish smile. "I've busted my ass for it."

"I can tell." She kissed him on the cheek, grinning when he flushed and squirmed like a fourteen year old. "Now, willing to talk to me about this work arrangement you have? You said something about it on the phone, and now I'm curious."

Peppy snorted, getting the stir fry meat out of the fridge, setting his ingredients out across the counter. "Yeah, there's nothing black-book about it so I can share. We're out of work and probably will be for a while, as far as wars go. The boys are already running tight, and what with fixing up my car, I will be too. That said, we need work, and a friend of ours already said we'd have work with his company." He set two woks and a pot for rice on the stove, measuring water. "Alphonse Caroso graduated a term or two before the boys did, he's sort of a friend of the team."

Erin burst into laughter. "Alphonse!"

"Yeah. Mostly we call him Al, or Panther. He's always heavily armed and he tends to pull guns on people who use his full name. He somehow got the money together to start his own business, snapped up a rebuilt skyscraper right after the war and has been raking in cash ever since. Security and bounty-hunting." Peppy started up the burners easily, cheerful 'foomf' noises filling the kitchen as the gas caught. "He's a good guy, though Falco can't stand him normally."

"Security and bounty hunting hmm? So what would you and the boys be doing?"

"I'm not sure. That's why I'm meeting with him later tonight, to ask him if his offer still stands."

Erin nodded. "So why's Falco hate him?"

"Panther has this nasty habit on hitting on him, or anyone for that matter. He's the walking definition of flirt." He paused, considering. "Actually I think he considered modeling for a while for a gun magazine, but he said he likes hands-on stuff better."

"He's that good looking?"

"Here, stir, I'll see if I have a picture of him."

Erin took the wooden utensil dubiously, and was glad when Peppy was back a few minutes later, accepting the newsprint cutout as Peppy took the stove back over, juggling the two woks easily and expertly. The picture was a black and white, metro section, talking about the new business that was arriving. Panther himself was caught staring up at the building, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "He is pretty cute. Obviously thinks so, too."

"Yeah, he can be a conceited little bastard about his looks, but he's pretty practical about what he can actually do. He's a decent pilot, better martial artist, and damn amazing sharpshooter. He's won awards for the last." Peppy spoke absently, letting himself get absorbed in cooking.

Erin nodded, setting the clipping aside and letting herself watch him. The kitchen smelled of oil and authentic spices, and she was almost surprised when it seemed like only a few minutes later that a hot bowl was pressed in her hands, two good wooden chopsticks already sticking out of the stir fry, which had been put over a generous helping of rice. "You amaze me." She remarked, picking up the chopsticks as he dished food for himself. "If I could cook like this, I'd gain twenty pounds in a week."

"Now you see why I was so overweight during the war." Peppy chuckled, taking a seat at the table as she did. "The boys have no complaints though, they work all the calories off."

"It'll catch up with them eventually."

"Not necessarily, it never caught up with James." Peppy laughed, cradling the bowl in one hand and holding the chopsticks in other, eating almost as fast as she was. "But then, James spent a few hours a day working out."

"You really miss him don't you?"

"Yeah. He was a great friend. But what can you do, you know? Death is sort of a job hazard when you're in the military, more so when you're in a mercenary company." He shrugged, watching her get seconds of rice, consider, and load up on more stir fry too. "Have you eaten anything else today?"

"Had a bowl of cereal this morning." She replied after swallowing.

"We have got to get your eating habits better, I don't care if you're a model." He shook his head. She flung a water chestnut at him.

"Do me a favor, ok? Don't get dead on any upcoming jobs; it would be terribly depressing if you did."

He sat back and laughed out loud, still cradling the half-empty bowl.

Panther was halfway through his clove cigarette when he saw Peppy's car pull into the parking lot of his building, and smiled, flicking ash away easily. The parking lot was half-full of vehicles, assorted styles but almost all in basic black, heavily tinted. "Hey, Pep." He said by way of greeting when Peppy strolled up, studying the older man. "You look a lot better. Lost nearly all the excess fluff, I see."

"Thanks, coming from you that's a high compliment." Peppy laughed and leaned on the wall next to him, watching him draw off the clove. "Still have the building non-smoking hm?"

"Cigarette smoke's bad for the equipment." He replied sourly, flicking ash again.

"I thought you were quitting."

"Peppy, quitting sex would be easier then quitting these things. I have cut back though, down to three or four a day." He tossed the butt in one of the receptacles with a sigh. "So, you and the guys need work, am I right?"

"That's about the long and short of it, yes."

"I ever showed you around this place?"

"Actually no."

"Well, come on in then, meet the family."

They strolled through the doors, Panther nodding at a bulky Doberman behind the security desk, and walked over to an elevator. "Most of the money is brought in by security contracts right now. I employ a lot of ex-marines and ex-army, preferably the rangers on the latter." They got into the elevator, he pushed the button for the second floor. "That being said, a lot of what we actually do is walking patrols at companies that have hired us, or watching a LOT of security cameras. About a quarter of the company is female, and most of them are in the field."

The elevator door opened, and Peppy's ears were assaulted by the sound of a lot of electronics at work. Panther led him at a lazy pace through the banks of TV screens and computers, almost all of which were being actively watched. "This had to have cost a fortune." Peppy remarked, looking around. "You didn't cut corners, this looks state of the art."

Panther nodded. "I'm pretty much at the top of the list for security firms right now, locally at least. Second, third, and forth floors are all setups like this." He led them back to the elevator. "But you don't figure I'll have you watching cameras, right?"

"Can't seeing you making us walk a beat, either." Peppy agreed, stepping into the elevator with him and watching him hit the button for the fifth floor.

"Well I _could_. It's good cash, believe it or not. Most of the places I've got security patrols running are high end technical or medical, and are willing to pay small fortunes for armed patrols." They got out on the fifth floor. "Here's where it gets fun." The first part of the floor was banks of computers, most of which sat off. A few people waved at Panther, diligently working late into the night. He saluted them and unlocked a heavy-duty door, stepping through. "Check this out."

Peppy stared, looking at the racks of guns, armor, and weaponry. "This can't be legal."

"Oh, it is, trust me. Took forever to get the licenses to have all this of course." Panther tossed him an assault rifle. "As you know, my company also occasionally dabbles in bounty hunting. We don't go after two-bit hoods, of course, usually we're tasked to go after drug cartels, big-league busts. Blackwater Corps loves us, believe it or not."

Peppy nodded, looking at the gun. Blackwater was another mercenary group, ground work, not air work. "So, this is what we'd be helping with?"

"Yeah, if we get contracts for it, that stuff is kinda few and far between." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You have any sharpshooters? I can't recall."

"Fox and Falco prefer handguns. Slippy's good with anything with a scope, though. He's not fast, but he's accurate."

"Accuracy is what counts." He took the gun back, putting it back on the rack and suddenly stopping, fingers tapping on the guns. "Wait. I have an even better idea."

"Oh, lord almighty. What?"

"They race, don't they?"

"Yeah, Fox and Falco drift race, Slippy tunes, has his own little label too. I'm actually working on getting my Roadrunner back to snuff. Why?"

"You guys got any sponsorship?"

"Not as such, no…"

"Alright, idea." He turned around, leaning on the rack, fingertips pressed together and grinning like a devil. "It's hard to advertise this place. So what say I give you some generous cash to put my company name and logo on your cars?"

"These aren't billboard cars, Al, most sponsorship is done by car companies."

"We'll design the ads to look like any other sponsorship, and put my web address in there too. People will get curious and look it up, and some of those people are bound to be corporate themselves." He kept grinning.

"I'd have to talk to the boys."

"You do that. I'll see you out."


	8. Chapter 8: Distractions

Chapter Eight: Distractions

The receptionist looked up and grinned. Peppy had just stepped off the elevator, wearing loose exercise pants and a tank top, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Everyone in the waiting room, mostly models, were gaping at him. "Hi, Peppy."

"Hey. I get to abuse several of your models for several hours today." He grinned, leaning on the counter.

"So I was told, and let me tell you I was wondering. Not every day you see several of the girls running around in sports bras." She laughed and sat back. "So, what's in the bag?"

"Stuff on loan from my former instructor. Some protective gear, empty airsoft guns, a few prop knives, et cetera. Nothing dangerous." He shrugged. "I'm just going to be showing them some basic stuff today, disarming and incapacitating."

"Not to interrupt, but who the hell are you?" One of the models sputtered, having stood and taken a step toward him. She was as jaguar and whippet thin, and looking at her Peppy felt a spur of pain. She was so far past the line of "healthy thin" it was unreal. This industry was terrible in a few ways.

"Miss, the receptionist called me Peppy, and my tattoo is showing." He pointed at it. "So if you can't figure it out, it's your own fault." He turned back to said receptionist. "So, can I go in or what?"

"Go right ahead, Pep." She watched him pass the desk with a grin, then turned back to the bewildered model.

The others that worked there were getting used to him and waved happily, he hadn't made it a dozen steps before Drax grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, you're late." Drax told him peevishly. "And you try keeping a room full of models patient! Were you trying to get me killed!"

"Lord, Drax, sorry. I'm only ten minutes late, and that's because of traffic! This half of the block is frigging blocked from through traffic."

"Yes, I know, some idiot planted his truck into a telephone pole, completely knocked it down…"

Peppy winced. "I can relate."

"Yeah, well, he knocked out our phones and internet, we may be offline the rest of the day. It's hell here right now." Drax opened a door and drug him through it. "Ok, everyone, you can relax now."

Peppy stood there blinking. Judging by the white board on a wall, it'd been a conference room once upon a time, but all the furniture had been emptied out of it besides a few chairs and a table, which had a cooler sitting on it. Someone had gotten exercise mats, and most of the floor was covered with them. His first "class" was gathered loosely in the middle of the room, he counted ten, including Erin, Chelsea, and Natasha. Three of the guys were there as well, which he wasn't too surprised about. "Hello, everyone."

"You're late." Erin replied with a grin.

"Drax was kind enough to point that out to me." He replied, looking at the closed door behind him. "That guy needs decaf."

"Nick asked him if he wanted to model, he's been neurotic ever since. Don't ask us why." Natasha said, watching him drop the duffelbag aside. "We're all kind of curious what you're going to be putting us through."

"Don't worry, I've got most of that worked out." He smiled and crossed his arms. "And to that end, kids, I have a speech you have to listen to. The things I'm going to show you how to do in the next hour or two are NOT to be used to show off. Don't perform this stuff on your friends, they sure as hell won't think you for it. Nothing I'm going to show you, unto itself, is fatal." He swept the group with his eyes, and was surprised, they were not only listening, they had suddenly become a fairly respectable class. Good, this might be easier then he thought. "I'm going to be showing you some self-defense moves, including disarms and throws. The majority of these moves can be performed by anyone against any size assailant, given the right technique. To that end, I'll be showing you how to do things, but I will not be completing any of these moves. I really doubt anyone here wants to got ER today."

"Cute orderlies aside, I'm inclined to agree with that." Chelsea said in a mutter, blowing a bubble. Black gum, as usual, Peppy noted.

"So, now that that's out of the way, let's got down to business shall we? Any brave volunteers?"

"Ok, so I don't get it. In everything I read, soldiers of fortune make a huge amount of cash. How are you guys broke?"

Peppy was sitting on the mats, leaning against a wall, a bottle of Gatorade in one hand. Erin was sitting next to him, about a foot away. The guy talking to him was sitting across from him, head tilted to one side. After putting the models though an hour of self-defense instruction, he'd called a break. "A combination of a strong sense of morals, and high debt." He replied, taking a drink. "Star Fox isn't really a 'black book' operation, so that restricts the jobs we take. And most of the money we get goes to ArSpace Dynamics." He shrugged.

"Are you at least getting paid for doing this?"

"Nah. I'm doing this for free. I enjoy hand to hand combat, and I don't want to hear about Erin getting assaulted again, or anyone else for that matter." He smiled a bit when Erin beamed. "And actually I'm in discussion with an old friend, so who knows, we may get work soon." He paused, then looked at Erin. "Question, whatever became of your stalker anyways?"

"Slap on the wrist, few days time, thrown back out on the streets." She shook her head wearily. "Tony himself called me, to tell me about it, then told me he could hear me pouting through the phone and to cut it out. They're running an extra patrol through my area now, the neighborhood watch loves me for it."

"Damn. Oh well. Anything suspicious, call me ok?"

She nodded. "And you'll call Tony, and arrive with the cavalry."

"Yeah, something like that." He replied agreeably.

"So what else are we doing today?" Chelsea asked, coming over and crouching on her toes. Apparently not owning exercise gear, she was in a bikini, and even Peppy had to make an effort to look her in the eye.

"A bit more practice, that's about it though. I can come back next week, reinforce what I taught today and made show you guys a few new tricks. After all, we're not going for blackbelts here, I'd rather have you know how to do a few things very well."

"Makes sense to me." She blew another bubble, standing back up and wandering over to tell everyone else this.

Erin hugged her knees to her chest. "Damn it. Now I'm all worried again. I'm sure that asshole knows where I live."

"That's easy to fix. Let's finish this so I can get you out of those clothes."

She blinked at him, then lifted an eyebrow. "Say what?"

"And into a suitable outfit. So, do you like to dance?"

"You're WHAT?" Falco asked, watching Peppy go through one of the storage trucks on the Great Fox. They had a few empty storage bays, so the team found it convenient to store seasonal clothing there, among other things.

"Going dancing, which is why I want to get a hold of Bill. You DO have his phone number right?" Peppy asked, setting aside a few boxes, harruphing.

"You dance?"

"Corneria calling Falco, do you copy? Need radio frequency for a Bill Grey, location Katina."

"Har de fricking har. I'm not telling you until I get answers to my questions."

"Ok, fair enough. Yes, I dance. It's how I met my ex-wife." Some more rummaging and he let out a cry of victory, opening a case and slicking his ears back, settling the hat on his head and standing. "Of course, I'm picky on the styles."

"Nice pimp hat." Falco had his eyebrows lifted at the black chapeau. All it needed was a neon red or purple feather, and Peppy would not have been out of place in a bordello.

"Call it what you like, but unfortunately I lost the zoot suit long ago." He sighed, zipping his fingers along the brim of the hat.

"Oh. OH. That's why you want to talk to Bill!"

"Right. Fox knows all the headbanger places, and I'm sure you are up to date on all the underground rap and hip-hop. I'm looking for swing, salsa, and ska."

"Does Erin know this?"

"I told her dress bright." Peppy grinned.

"Oh, hey, Peppy! Good news and bad news, I found an engine…" Slippy walked in and stopped, blinking once. "Nice hat. I found an engine for your car."

"Really, that's good. And what's the bad news?"

"Well, uh, I kind of authorized all the work on your car a week ago."

Falco immediately started shaming Slippy, who was already kowtowing. Peppy was rubbing his chin, figuring out what exactly that meant. "So, in other words, you found the engine a week ago."

"Three days ago."

"But what other work could they have done?"

"They pulled your frame straight and restored the body, stripped it down to primer, and ran it through the paint shop." Slippy ticked these off on his fingers as he went. "They got a line on a Hemi 426 with a four-speed, and I couldn't resist. It was dropped yesterday."

Peppy moaned and rubbed his eyes. "So, in other words, the car is finished. Without me approving ANY of the work, including the paintjob."

"Yeah, they changed that around a bit."

He looked at Slippy, then looked at Falco. "I think I may murder him."

"Are you kidding? I may hold him down! This is sacrilege and he knows it. At the very least, you need to be informed when something important is done, and you should be allowed to see the car as it progresses. Not just dump it at the bodyshop and then get it back." Falco was sniveling. "I mean, it'd be like dropping a loved one off for a heart surgery and then picking them up later."

"I know, I know, ok! But they showed me the design they worked up on their computers and I couldn't resist!" Slippy threw his hands up in the air. "Don't worry, they know I jumped the gun, and they'll take payments. My reputation is great with this shop."

"How much do I owe them?"  
"Well, uh. Aheh." Slippy handed him a printout.

Peppy read down the list, then roughly sat down on the floor. "Oh my god. I can't afford all this right now. Or I mean, I could, but my savings account would be completely wiped out." He sighed, rubbing his temple.

"They're willing to wait for payment."

"I still may kill you."

"How about I offer you a ride to pick up your baby?"

"Yeah, so I can skin you right then and there for whatever bastardization they did to my paint job…" He let Falco help him up. "And when I get back, I want Bill's phone number." He jabbed Falco in the chest to punctuate this, and followed Slippy out of the storeroom, still holding the printout and wearing the hat.

"Slippy, my man." Brett grinned, taking his heels off the desk and standing up. "I'll take it by the shell-shocked look of your friend, you gave him the news."

"He's threatening me with death." Slippy replied.

"I think I'm in my right." Peppy replied, shoving the list into his pocket. "He gave me the short version. Is it running?"

"Why don't you come and find out yourself?" Brett grinned at him, showing off his compliment of gator teeth, and led them into the shop proper. It was noisy and busy, and one wall was taken over by banners advertising groups they worked with. One of the most recent ones on the far right, amusingly, was a Star Fox Racing banner. Even as Peppy looked, he saw a few teenagers staring at it, car keys still in their hands.

"You have quite an operation here."

"Oh, we put up billboards near all the major high schools, basically saying it's better to let professionals do it then try to do it themselves. Our choice in pictures were one of a flaming self-tuned ricer piece of crap, and one of our tuned cars, side by side." Brett whistled innocently. "The billboards are expensive, but our number of customers nearly doubled."

"Careful, or I may reduce you from operation to 'racket.'"

Brett tut-tutted, and led them through another door into a much quieter room. Most of the cars here were finished or near it, many with new paint jobs. Sitting at center stage was an obviously different car, covered. "Kids wander back here, I didn't want them messing with your ride, Peppy. We're proud of this one." Brett undid the lock and then yanked the cover off, grinning.

Peppy gaped. His roadrunner had gone from skeletal and dead to completely restored. Instead of black, the midnight blue had stayed, but the flames had been added, not in red and orange but white and neon blue, licking back from the grill and trailing along the hood and around the front wheel wells. The tires had also been replaced, huge mag wheels and intimidating rims.

Slippy watched him walk slowly around the car, fingers brushing along it, then leaning to look at the interior. "So, am I still going to die?"

"I think I can give you a mercy plea." Peppy replied, stepping back and just staring at the car. "Was the interior redone?"

"Dash and steering wheel were replaced, the rest was just cleaned up. Had a friend who's good at interiors and owed me a favor." Brett replied, grinning. "Nice eh?"

"This is gorgeous. I can't believe it."

"We already put a Star Fox Racing decal on the back window, and a bumper sticker for our bodyshop on the back bumper, hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, how's it under his banner if you did all the work?" Peppy jerked his head toward Slippy.

"He approved and modified our computer work, checked all the parts. We did most of the dirty work but didn't move unless he said to." Brett smiled and shrugged. "So, he's the mastermind of the thing."

"Yeah, that's how it usually works. Is she driveable?"

"All night long." He grinned.

"Funny." Peppy unlocked the door, sliding into the seat and adjusting it, staring around for a moment then turning the key. The snarly V8 rumble filled the room, and he smiled. "God, I missed that sound."

"Let me open up the doors for you, and you can be on your way. She's not plated right now, so you may want that to be your first stop." When Peppy nodded, Brett opened up the massive garage door that led into this room. "Oh, and go easy on the gas. Give her too much at once, your front end may come off the ground." He hollered over the engine noise.

Peppy had to laugh, putting the car in gear. Once he was on the road, he dug out his cell phone and hit one of the autodials, waiting for a traffic light. "Hey, Erin?"

"Hey, Pep, what's up?"

"Slight change of plans for tonight."

"Rain check?" She asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

"No, no not at all. But instead of you picking me up, I'll pick you up. Alright?"

"In your sedan?" Erin asked, baffled.

"No, not exactly. See you soon."

"Alright, I'll admit it, it's a nice ride." Falco said, sitting on the hood of his NSX, eying the Roadrunner. "I'm not sure the outfit goes."

"Actually, I think he looks fine." Bill said, giving Peppy a once over. "Cool clothes, man, you have got to tell me where you shop. And I love the hat."

Peppy laughed, adjusting his tie. "I'm just glad I'm reasonably skinny again."

"You need a silver-headed cane."

"No, he'll look like a pimp." Falco said, deadpan. "I mean, all he needs is a fur-edged overcoat as it is…"

"Bite me, Falco. When the hell did you get here, Bill?"

"Came to visit you guys, glad my timing is so good. You want swing dance, Peppy?"

"Swing, salsa, ska, something like that. Happy music."

"Alright, let me see…" Bill paced in a lazy circle, thinking, then snapped his fingers, pointing at Peppy. "The Cabana Club! You definitely want to hit the Cabana Club! Cover's decent, compared to some of the other places, huge dance floor, bar is frickin' awesome, man. And they almost always have live music."

"Alright, you've intrigued me. What kind of music?" Peppy leaned back against his car, arms propped on the roof. His old car, restored, a new suit, and a girlfriend younger then he is, maybe he'd officially hit his "midlife crisis"? Oh well, at least he could admit he was having a blast.

"Ska is their normal thing, but they do swing too, depends on the day."

"That works, got some decent directions to the place?"

"You look great."

Erin sighed, looking at herself in the mirror. The dress was bright, tropical red with just a hint of gold shimmer, sleeveless, the neckline showing a tasteful amount of cleavage but not plunging. It went to her knees, the skirt full. "I don't know. Red's your favorite color, not mine, Natasha."

"Well, he said dress bright, and baby blue doesn't count, girl." Natasha was sitting at her vanity, sorting through her makeup. "Here, try this lipstick."

Erin sighed and took it, applying it. "Why are you dressing me again? I called you over here for moral support!"

"Because I disapproved of your outfit." Now Natasha was going through her shoes. "And you're going dancing, you said?"

"Apparently."

"Here, then." Natasha handed her black pumps with a two-inch heel. "You're so used to spikes, those should be fine."

Erin put the shoes on and looked at herself in the mirror again. "Actually, this does look good…"

"When's he supposed to get here?"

"I don't know, soon. I was going to pick him up so we could go in my roadster, but he called earlier and said he'd pick me up." She shrugged, walking out of her bedroom and to the kitchen, pouring herself some iced tea. "Want some?"

"Sure. Any idea what he's wearing?"

"Not a clue."

"Call him and tell him you're wearing red."

"What?"

"Just do it."

She dubiously did, and Peppy chuckled in her ear and told her ok, babe, see you shortly. She hung up and looked at Natasha. "So he can match me?"

"Damn skippy. He needs to wear a red tie or something."

"You do know we're trying to avoid publicity, right?" Erin passed her the glass, taking a drink of her own.

"Officially yes, but you have that picture from the newspaper on your fridge, hun. If you're going to have fun, you may as well look good! I'm sure he agrees."

"We'll see. I'd rather you be gone when he shows up, you know."

"I know, I know." She gulped her tea, gave Erin a hug, and strolled out the door.

Erin sighed, standing in the middle of her kitchen alone. "Maybe I should have let her stay…" She drifted to her living room at sat down, watching one of the police cruisers roll through the neighborhood, the low idle rattling a few windows softly.

In the end, she didn't have long to wait, glancing up from her book when another engine purr reached her, this time not rolling by, but pulling up into her driveway and turning off. She stood, and stared at the huge hotrod that sprawled in the driveway, convinced someone was lost until the door opened and Peppy stepped out, wearing what appeared to be a dark zoot suit and red tie, wide brimmed hat completing the picture.

She met him at the door, staring at him. "Hi."

"Greetings, fair maiden, I come to sweep you off for a night out dancing." Peppy replied cheerfully, bowing and presenting her with a single rose.

"Whose closet and garage did you rob?" She asked with a grin, taking the flower.

"You don't approve?" He grinned back "The suit and jacket are probably a bit much."

"No, I like it. Swing dancing?"

"Most likely, if you don't mind that is."

She got her purse, locking the door behind her and taking his proffered arm. "Not at all. So whose car is that? It's gorgeous."

"Mine, love. Just got it back from the shop, I was as shocked as you are by it." He opened the passenger door for her, and she got in easily, smiling, closing the door as he walked around to the driver's door. "A friend recommended a club to me, so I figured we'd check it out. If we get bored we can always check out a movie."

"Works for me." Erin watched him drive the car for a while, amused. "So, this is your baby eh?"

"I'm not fond of that pet name for cars honestly, but yeah, it is. Before I wrecked it about eight years ago." He chucked, patting the dashboard. "Poor abused thing, I doubt it deserved to be run into a pole like that."

"Are you kidding, a car with a frame like this, I pity the pole."

"For what it's worth, yeah, I knocked it down." He shook his head. "And nearly totaled this car in the process. Damn Pigma for lousing out as my designated driver, anyways."

"Hun, from what I heard about him on the news, he was completely a louse anyway." She glanced out the windows as they waited for a light, and laughed. They were on the one of the main roads, entrapped by tuner racers, all of which were revving their engines at Peppy. "Think your boys know these maroons?"

"Possibly." He rolled the window down and leaned out, hollering at the car next to him. "Hey. You with a racing group?"

"Yeah, the Pit Vipers!"

"That explains it." He remarked to Erin, turning back toward the light and putting the car in neutral, revving the engine as he waited for the light to change. The downtown lights always ran long, and the ricers around him took that as a challenge.

"A rival group?" Erin asked, moving so she was braced, hands holding onto her shoulder strap.

"You could say that. From what Fox has told me, not everyone appreciates the idea of a mercenary group racing. If I remember right, the Pit Vipers are one of those groups. Falco had plenty to say about them, mostly to the tune of them being 'posers.'" He put the roadrunner back into first gear and mashed the gas as the light changed. As Slippy's friend said, the front end leapt as the car launched, the back tires peeling out. The ricers leapt ahead, but by the next light Peppy'd caught and passed them, changing lanes and turning away from the main drag, heading for the docks. "Let's hope Bill's directions are right eh?"

Erin nodded. "Being lost sucks."

"Trust me, I know. Thought I'd qualify I'm not lost anymore."

"Smooth, Pep. Very, very smooth."

He grinned at her. "I do try."


	9. Chapter 9: Politicians and getting some

_Author's Note: I am really, really sorry for this. This chapter had to be retooled several times, and I lost some motivation in there, which is why it's taken so dang long to get this story updated. I apologize for ANY cheesiness or blatant mistakes made in this chapter, but dangit it's done and going online. I hope you enjoy it, and no, this is not the last chapter._

Chapter Nine: Politicians and getting some action

Peppy woke up slowly, blinking in the darkness. A muffled chirp could be heard, and after several moments he realized it was coming from his pants pocket. His beeper was going off, joy to the world. It wouldn't have been a big deal really, but he couldn't get to said pockets very well. He'd fallen asleep on Erin's couch, propped in one corner and legs stretched out. His suit jacket was off, but that was because Erin was wearing it, curled up against his chest, one arm around herself, the other around him.

And the sad thing was, Peppy couldn't remember falling asleep. He'd come by here to drop her off, Erin had invited him in for a drink and had put the news on. He remembered sitting down to watch some announcement some government crony was giving, and after that everything was a pleasantly sleepy blur.

_I am definitely not young anymore._ Peppy stirred, trying to get to his pockets, and stilled again when Erin mumbled and tightened her grip. He looked down at her and sighed, leaning his cheek against the top of her head and wrapping his arms back around her. This was a pleasant thing, and put no pressure on him. He didn't feel wound either, just relaxed, relieved to have another heartbeat thumping near his. He snuggled her for several moments, only moving when he felt himself nearly doze back off. Business first, pleasure later.

Erin only mumbled and vaguely stirred when he slowly shifted to scoop her up in his arms. It took him a few minutes to get to his feet, then he carried her down the hall, finding her bedroom and setting her on the bed. Apparently a sound sleeper, she only curled back up, sighing when he pulled a blanket across her.

That done, Peppy walked quietly back down the hallway, digging his beeper back out of his pocket once he was back in the living room. The number was Fox's, with a request to call as soon as possible. He shrugged and sat down, unearthing his cell phone and hitting the speed dial.

Fox picked up on the third ring, sounding alert. "Thanks for calling back, Peppy."

"Sorry it took me a bit. What's going on?" Peppy kept his voice quiet, loosening his tie.

"Well, apparently there's a bit of a situation and they want to keep it quiet, so these channels aren't the best place to speak of it. Get me?"

"Gotcha, should I head back to the ship, and am I in a rush?"

"Yes, and don't worry about speeding. This is still a developing thing, we don't have enough information yet."

"Right. Thanks." Peppy hung up and stood, walking back down the hallway and kneeling by Erin's bed. "Erin, wake up for a moment…" He kept his voice low, brushing a finger over her cheek and through her hair. "Erin…"

She started, looking at him groggily. "Huh? Something wrong?"

"I have to go, I'm sorry. Duty calls."

She looked at him a moment, then reached out and gathered him close, kissing his cheek then nuzzling his shoulder. "Be careful."

"I will be." He returned the hold, kissing the top of her head then standing, heading out. Well, this did solve the no-work issue, he supposed.

"So what's going on?" Peppy asked as he stepped onto the bridge, not surprised that everyone else was there already. "We have work to do?"

"Most likely, yeah." Falco replied. "Some kind of hostage situation, Pepper put us on the alert, but we've got no details yet."

"Hostage situation?" Peppy lifted his eyebrows. "Why not call Blackwater or Panther, then?"

"Or the cops, for that matter?" Falco added.

"Trust me, I'm curious about that too." Fox said. He was seated on the floor, one of his guns in pieces in front of him. "We'll see."

"I've still got a reputation as a sharpshooter." Slippy remarked, leaning back in his chair. "But there are plenty as good or better then I am, so I doubt that's it."

The radio chirped, and Falco hit the answer switch, since Fox had grease on his hands. "General, glad you got back to us. What's the deal?"

"Morning, Falco. Alright, guys, listen up." General Pepper was leaning on his desk staring at the screen, looking haggard, a mug of coffee in one hand. "What I'm about to tell you is top secret at this point, but here's the situation. A group of delegates got together and rented out part of a luxury cruise liner earlier this week. All of this was done carefully, but apparently someone leaked, because about two hours ago said liner was compromised."

"So it is a hostage situation." Fox said, lifting his eyebrows. "A cruise liner? You mean a space yacht?"

"Exactly. Now you're probably wondering why we've called you four about this, since your exact expertise is dogfights, not footwork. The brass here has no illusions that they'll be able to keep this away from the media, and our President … brilliant man that he is... wants to be able to make it sound better then it is. He thinks the easiest way to do that, is to have you guys deal with it."

"… that is the most dumbass logic I've heard all month." Falco finally said. "Make good with the press by sending in people that are experts at something else? Yes, and lets let bomb squads perform surgery."

"You can probably tell that I'm inclined to agree with you Falco, but these are my orders, what the hell can I do about it. They're willing to outfit you as needed."

"We'll need a lot more information before we make any decisions, General." Fox remarked, standing and shoving his reassembled gun into its holster. "We're used to small group tactics, and we all know a reasonable amount of hand to hand combat."

"Some more then others." Slippy glanced at Peppy, who smiled and shrugged.

"Let's get to it then." Pepper did some typing, and ROB brought up the holograph display when it arrived, showing a slowly spinning 3D image of the cruise liner. "The enemy seems to have taken control of all the ship's functions. There's only one docking bay, for small craft, and it's been closed. All of the weaponry and shielding is defensive, but that's pretty much beside the point. In their ultimatum they informed us they'd be willing to kill hostages if they came under attack."

"Usual hostage-situation BS, then. What's their ultimatum?"

"They want quite a bit of money and the release of several prisoners in various jails across the system." Pepper sat back, folding his arms. "I don't believe them, but we don't have a choice but to go with it for now. Their leader has a record."

"Can you send us the file?"

"Unfortunately no. The brass gave me permission to give you the run down and the holos, but not to release those files." Pepper made a face.

"How many hostages do they have?" Peppy asked, looking at the holo of the ship, then at Pepper.

"It was pretty much the delegates and staff on board, but we assume most of the people on board have been locked down in their quarters. We can't get exact numbers, but as many as fifty to seventy-five."

Slippy stood, looking at the hologram of the ship. "Is the ship stationary?"

"Not quite, it's moving in a slow circular path. Not going anywhere fast, but in motion all the same."

"We could use a cloaked breach shuttle, come up from behind them and punch in where crew cabins are."

"Not a bad idea, but they'd immediately know our entry point." Falco frowned a bit, considering. "Though drawing them out might not be a bad idea, and if we could get the security systems in the ship shut off, we'd be able to move without them tracking us."

"I could take care of the cameras once we're inside." Slippy replied. "Their security system can't be any better then those used on battleships, and I know those well."

Fox was still looking at the holo, rubbing his chin. "A breach shuttle… what do you think, General?"

"Well, it's not a tactic we use much but I bet the brass here would be willing to try it. The owners of the cruiser liner are already pretty resigned to the fact that their pretty showboat is going to come back with some scuffmarks." Pepper looked thoughtful. "Do you guys even know boarding strategies?"

"Arm us and supply the breach shuttle, General. We'll do what we can."

"You got it. Launch for orbit, Star Fox. Let's get this train wreck on the road." The General's image blinked out.

"Holy crap, guys. They usually use marines for breaching a ship." Falco said after a moment, shaking his head.

"Yeah, but that's breaching a battleship. We're forcing boarding onto a luxury liner." Slippy said, still looking at the hologram. "No built-in internal defenses or security force, and a fraction of the usual crew. We punch the hull somewhere where people aren't, hack the security system out, and deal with the enemy on our own terms."

"They've said that they'll kill hostages if they come under attack, though." Peppy frowned. "Wouldn't us boarding be considered an attack?"

"We're a 'negotiation' squad." Falco cracked a smile. "And we arrive to negotiate with extreme prejudice."

Fox snickered. "Sort the ship for launch, ROB. Let's get this over with."

"You agreed to let them attempt a breach?!"

Pepper sighed, looking at Admiral Derrick, whose ship he was on. "Do you have a better idea? Because if you do, I would dearly love to hear it right now."

"General…"

"Dammit, Derrick. I'm no happier about this then you are. If I had my way, I'd call in some ground professionals, marines or otherwise. But we've got Star Fox on payroll again, and agreed to supply them, and they want to breach. So unless you come up with a way I can avoid sending the son of a deceased friend into the lion's den, I suggest you stand down for the time being!"

There was a long silence, then Derrick huffed. "This isn't like you, old friend."

"Yeah, well, usually I get more sleep."

"Sirs? The Great Fox is alongside and lining up a docking collar."

Both looked at the aide, and Pepper stood, nodding. "Thank you private. Come on, Derrick, let's go greet our soldiers of fortune."

Fox held his breath as he watched the Great Fox's docking collar door open. This is one thing he never liked, simply because he never trusted the seal. But this time, it worked, and through the abutted doorway he saw General Pepper and one of the other Brass. He exhaled and stepped over the gap. "General. Always good to see you face to face."

Pepper nodded, watching the crew come on board one at a time. They'd changed into uniforms, not flight uniforms either, a version of the Star Fox setup made for ground skirmishes. All were armed, and he had to grin when he saw Peppy, who was wearing crossed hip holsters. "Hello boys. Peppy, might I just say that you look much better."

"Thank you General."

"I realize this isn't your usual job, but I appreciate your flexibility. We have a breach shuttle ready, what else do you require?"

"How about access to an armory?" Falco asked pointedly. "Most of us only have small arms."

"Done."

Ten minutes later they were all standing in the cruiser's main armory, the team gathered in a circle, talking about what best to carry. It wasn't the easiest decision to make: bullets that could pierce body armor could most likely pierce the walls of a yacht, which wasn't built to withstand such things like battleships were. Likewise, weapons with a spreading discharge such as riot shotguns were quickly ruled out. Which left them with a smaller range of weapons to choose from.

"Lasers. We're going into a hostage situation carrying low-impact lasers." Falco looked completely disgusted.

"Laser-loaded assault rifles." Slippy tossed him one, Falco weighed it. "They're the best balance we can get for now. They're self generating, so we don't have to worry about clips. They go through most conventional body armor, but won't go through ship armor. They will however punch right through glass, so be careful if we end up on a command deck."

Derrick, who was leaning on a wall nearby, looked impressed. "You know your shit, short stuff."

"Well, yeah." Slippy gave him a droll look, then turned back to the others. Fox was down on one knee, an unloaded laser rifle in the ready position, testing mobility. "As for our small arms, keep them on hand and bring plenty of clips. They're not powerful enough to punch the yacht's hull as long as you aren't loading armor-piercing rounds."

"What about blast door breaching?" Fox asked, looking down the sight of the rifle. "And these are nice. We may have to buy some."

"The yacht has no blast doors. Even if the controls are shot out, they can be forced by hand." Slippy replied, tossing them hip packs loaded with clips. "We all have our own hand-to-hand weaponry right?"

"I think we're set, Slip." Fox stood, propping the rifle on his shoulder and looking pleased. "As ready as we're going to get."

"Agreed." Peppy slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"Good to go." Falco nodded.

Fox turned to the General. "If you would lead us to our craft, I think we're ready to rock, General."

"You got it, kid."

"Alright, here's how it works. We're going to swing around the yacht and give you a go ahead when you'll have a good bearing." Derrick said, watching the four settle into the breach shuttle. "I assume one of you knows how to fly this thing."

"I can fly anything with wings." Fox replied, buckling into the pilot's chair. "Though I have to admit, flying a shuttle into something is a new twist."

"Lock in where you want to punch and the ship does the rest itself. Hold on tight, boys, it's one hell of a bumpy ride."

"We'll take that under advisement." Falco said sourly.

Derrick looked at Peppy, who was sprawled in his seat examining the rifle again. "You've done this before?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, godspeed." Derrick stepped down and pulled the shuttle door closed, rejoining Pepper on the bridge several minutes later. "Do you really think this is going to work?"

"We better hope so."

"Yo, Adam, check this out."

Adam sighed and stood up, glaring at the small gaggle of hostages nearby then stepping over to his comrade. "What?"

"Ok, this same cruiser's been circling us for some time, but look." Jim zoomed in. "They just dropped a craft off. You know what that is?"

Adam leaned in, then his eyes widened as he saw massive engines light up on the small craft, the form streaking toward them from behind. "That's either a missile or a breach pod. Those assholes!"

"Looks like they're trying to call your bluff, boss." Jim lifted an eyebrow, listening to the whimpering increase from the hostages.

"We'll lash back if necessary, but first…" Adam reached over and grabbed a handset, his voice echoing through the yacht. "It would seem our good friend the Cornerian military is trying something. All hands brace for impact! Brace!"

Peppy watched the yacht swell in the viewscreens of the breach shuttle, and let out the loudest whoop he could as the computer took over and the shuttle was sent into a barrelroll, hitting its target with pinpoint accuracy. Even with technology as it was, the impact was jarring, snapping the four hard against their restraints, prompting a shower of vibrant cussing as metal screamed on metal in protest, then broke through, the front half of the pod completely into the yacht. The shriek of indignant air was heard, then the pod's secondary system kicked in, metal seals opening up out of the hull and sealing the air into the yacht.

"Damn, man. Just… DAMN." Falco said, coughing and unbuckling as the shuttle's entire front swung open and a ramp dropped, hitting the floor with a loud clang. They had punched into an empty cabin, crumbling the walls and knocking the room door open in the process. "What a rush. It's like a roller coaster with a bad ending."

"Not a bad description." Peppy said, already unbuckled. "Alright, guys, let's move out. They have to know we're here, so we don't have much time."

"You got it, man." Fox stepped down the ramp, waving Falco to fall in behind him, checking the corridor for now. "We're clear, let's do this."

"What's our priorities here?" Peppy asked, opening the hip holsters but bringing the rifle to a more ready position.

"Hostages then baddies." Fox replied, taking point. "Assume that some of the hostages will be where the baddies are."

"Of course, but that leaves the questions as to where the others are. Would it be possible to take them out of the equation?"

"Good thought." Falco said. "General Pepper said as many as seventy-five people are on this boat, how do we go about finding them? Room sensors?"

"A yacht wouldn't have that kind of sensor system." Slippy replied, looking thoughtful. "And this place probably has hundreds of rooms you could lock people into."

"So how do we find them? We don't have time to go around opening all the doors."

"Fox, with your permission?"

The group came to a halt and gathered, Falco lifting his silenced handgun and shooting a camera without looking. "If you have an idea, by all means, Slip." Fox replied, ears swiveling uneasily, listening for trouble.

"Here's what we can do…"

Adam sat back and stared as a majority of the screens on the bridge blacked out, then scowled furiously, picking up a gun. They'd figured out it was a breach pod that had hit the cruise liner, and his men had found the long-abandoned pod. Happily there was no obvious air leak, but that was little comfort to Adam. He now had a task force loose on the ship, four guys from what he caught of them on the security cameras, and they'd somehow taken control of the ship from him.

Well, not totally. The two guys at the controls gave him thumbs up: they could still fly the ship as they saw fit. What he'd lost was all indication of what was going on inside the ship, which as he saw it was just as bad. "How the hell did they do this?" He shouted, stomping over to Jim, who had just tossed a keyboard away in frustration.

"I can't say for certain but I can guess." Jim replied, rubbing his temples. "And my guess is they got to the cruiser AI and did this."

"What do you mean, got to the cruiser AI?"

"Generally speaking, the only ships that actually have AIs kept on the bridge are battleships. Civilian ships keep them elsewhere, usually in their own special rooms so they have separate environmental controls." Replied another one of his men. "This sort of ship wouldn't have the greatest AI, but it would have one."

"Well why haven't we heard from it yet?"

"It probably figured it was better for its survival to stay silent." Jim replied wearily.

"Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I didn't figure it was important…"

Adam raised the gun and fired, hearing the hostages yelp and jump as Jim's body tumbled out of the chair, then turned to the others on the bridge, who were frozen. "The rest of you, find them and take them out!"

"Air quality monitors. Brilliant." Fox said admirably, watching the ship schematic come up, rooms color coding to show air usage.

"Gotta make sure everyone has enough of it, and this sort of ship has the ability to cut off parts of its ventilation if need be. So all the rooms are separately monitored, specifically for oxygen." Slippy replied, setting a finger to show a section of the ship where the rooms were marked red. "There's people breathing in there so the AI is having to shuttle air there more often."

The AI nodded. Voiceless, the mobile node was little more then a blinking eye on an extending arm. Peppy was pretty sure it was only there so someone in the room would have something to look at, either way it was a bit disconcerting. "Enough people to account for our hostage situation?"

"This can't give a real exact number, I mean it's tracking usage but we have a bunch of scared people, various ages." Slippy shook his head. "But we have their location and we mucked up the baddies' works a bit."

"That said we need to haul ass out of here. They're sure to figure out how we did this." Falco said, standing near the door with the assault rifle at hand.

Slippy frowned. "Yeah, but if they get here and find the AI unguarded, they'll probably try to destroy it." The AI's eye node hid behind him.

"Is there any way we can lock down the room then?"

A deeper frown. "Well, if they have welding torches or blast charges they'll be able to get in, but yeah we can."

"We'll have to take the chance that they won't be that determined. Do what you need to do to lock the door behind us and let's go."

The door had just been sealed when footsteps were heard running toward them. Fox wove Slippy to lead them away from their location, the group of four sprinting away then slowing down. Slippy, guided by the AI on a wireless handheld he'd brought with him, led them on a twisty route through the ship, making many turns and eventually taking a set of stairs up a level. This being a cruise liner and built to be attractive, it did have sets of stairs and balconies, and the four crouched on the balcony level behind some fake plants, watching the dining room below them. After several minutes the doors opened, a pair of men dressed in casual clothes and heavily armed peering into the half-lit room.

"Can't believe they managed to follow us that far. Hell I have no idea where we are." Falco whispered, sitting with his back to one of the fake plants, rifle at hand. He looked uncomfortable, but then, he wasn't exactly used to the idea of fighting in the lap of luxury.

"Ship's quiet. Probably followed our echoes." Slippy whispered back, slinging his rifle around and resting it on top of one of the pots, adjusting the scope and looking through it. "I have a shot. Do I take it?"

"Are they alone?" Fox asked, checking how his rifle was loaded.

"No way to tell. Do I take the shot?"

Fox glanced at Peppy and Falco, who nodded. "Take it, Slip."

Slippy pulled the trigger, and yells echoed in the empty room as one of the two men staggered and fell. Slippy reoriented on the other man, who was swinging his gun back and forth, trying to figure out what was going on. "Taking the second shot." He pulled again and the second man fell.

There was a silence, the doors to the corridor beyond the bodies still open.

"You weren't kidding about the sharpshooter bit." Falco finally said, looking at Slippy.

Slippy grinned. "You've never seen me shoot?"

Peppy half-closed his eyes, then leaned, peering at the empty doorway and seeing shadows move. Fear spiked at him briefly, not his own. "We're compromised here, let's go."

The group got to their feet and slicked away, up an enclosed flight of stairs and to another section of the ship.

"What to you mean, you missed them?!" Adam roared over the radio.

The other man winced, very glad that he wasn't face to face with his boss. "We just missed them, unfortunately for two of our guys, they didn't miss us. I've informed everyone else to keep their god damn heads down."

There was a silence, then Adam spoke again. "I have a better idea. Go to where we have the hostages kept and seal off that entire wing. Do NOT enter it, just seal it. If they're trapped, they're harmless, and I can bet that's where they're going."

"Yes sir."

Fox jogged down the corridor, ears perked, then stopped and pointed at a door. "There are people in there."

"Good ears, we're in the right spot." Slippy said, looking at his handheld then at the door controls. "Hot wired closed, cheap job of it too. Guess they didn't want to be bothered with finding out the master override codes." He yanked the wires and a few sparks later, the door opened.

There was movement in the room, and Peppy slowly leaned in. "Alright, whoever's in here listen. We're not the enemy; this is Peppy Hare of Star Fox. Is everyone all right?"

There were glad cries, and a group of people gathered in front of them, all dressed appropriate to service positions-maids, a few waiters, a cook. "Thank god! Is it safe?" One of the maids asked.

Peppy shook his head. "Not yet, we just want to make sure no one is injured."

They looked at each other, and the cook spoke. "We didn't see the scumbags shoot anyone. Saw someone get pistol whipped, that's it."

"That's some good news." Fox said. "What about the delegates?"

"We don't know."

"Alright, we're closing the door but it's unlocked. If we secure the ship, you'll hear about it. Until then I suggest you stay put." When the group nodded, Fox did so, looking at his team mates. "Would the delegates be on the bridge?"

"You'd figure." Slippy said, looking at his handheld. "It looks like everyone's been corralled into ten rooms or so."

"They have to have figured we'd be coming here." Falco said. He was on one knee, the rifle tucked to his shoulder.

"We'll have to move fast then. I want to know where our politician friends are before we continue." Fox replied. "Start opening doors Slip."

Slippy did so, moving back and forth through the corridor, wiring the doors unlocked. The other three fanned out, leaning into rooms and apprising those inside of the situation. Most of those they found were ship staff, but in the third to last room indignant yells started, and Falco sighed, looking to Fox. "I found'em boss."

Fox walked over and wasn't surprised to see the crowd that had gathered at the doorway, mostly older men in suits, ties loosened and some buttons undone. They all looked pissed as hell. "All present and accounted for?"

Slippy did something to his handheld. "General told us seven politicians, so…" He looked at the delegates. "Guess that'd be these fellows."

"What the HELL took so long?" One roared, tossing his arms up. "We've been locked down for hours!"

"All due respect to you but we haven't been here that long, and we were the first force tasked with this." Fox replied. "You are?"

"Jack Wallace. SENATOR Jack Wallace." He glared. "You're Fox McCloud, aren't you? I was at the awards ceremony."

"Yes, I am. Well, Mr. Wallace, I'm glad to see you and your friends are safe, but that leaves me with a question. If you're here, who does the enemy have on the bridge?"

The senators went silent and looked at each other, then one said, "Our families. My wife and daughter were taken from me."

Star Fox looked at each other.

"That doesn't fit." Falco said, frowning.

"How do you figure, soldier?" The one who had just spoken snapped. "Women and children make more sympathetic hostages, known fact."

"Not to our government. YOU guys would make better hostages as far as levering the government is concerned." Falco replied, hands on his hips. "Yeah, the news and the public get all aquiver when guns are held to a girl's skull but let's face it, your lovely buddies on Capitol Hill are more concerned with you."

"Why you…"

"Stop it, both of you." Peppy said sharply, and was rewarded with silence, everyone looking at him. "It doesn't matter how little sense this makes, the issue at hand is that we do not have the capacity to get these men to safety, and that there are hostages in more imminent danger elsewhere."

"Finally someone with common sense." Wallace tossed his arms up again.

"Can the balloon juice Senator Wallace unless you have something productive to say."

Wallace sputtered, turning red, but stayed silent.

"Not to change the subject or anything…" Slippy said from the corridor, looking at his handheld. "But the AI is tracking movement on one of the internal cameras. Our fine friends are outside this wing but not entering."

Fox turned his back to the politicians and joined Slippy. Falco leaned in the doorway and put a leg up across the gap so the politicians were kept in the room, ignoring them when they protested. "Does the ship AI have a clue what they're doing?"

"The AI just lost control of a door panel…"

A sharp boom noise echoed through the corridor.

"… and that would be an air seal door closing."

"SHIT!" Fox brought his rifle back around and paced down the corridor, Peppy and Slippy covering him, leaving Falco with the politicians. Down the corridor and around a corner, a giant metal door had closed and sealed. "What the hell?"

"Air seal doors are the closest thing this ship would have to blast doors." Slippy sounded sour, running a hand across the door and shaking his head. "They're all through the ship in strategic locations, meant to keep air sealed into the ship if a wing loses integrity for some reason."

"Can you open it?"

Slippy looked at the panel next to the door, which had no lights up on it. "That'd be a no."

"Shit."

The three paced back. "I guess they mean to seal us up in here. Is there another way out?" Peppy asked.

"Give me a few minutes, I'll find one."

"Better question. If we do get out of here, how are we going to go about getting the hostages on the bridge?" Falco asked. "If it's a classic ship's command deck, there's only one way in and out."

"You're sadly mistaken there. Most command decks have two ways in and out." Slippy said, cuing through ship blueprints on his handheld. One of the unnamed politicians moved to look over his shoulder curiously, Falco let him. "Trick is the second way in isn't meant to be heavy traffic, it's a maintenance door, and it's generally only seen on very large ships."

"Could that be used to our advantage?"

"I dunno, maybe. If this ship has one, it's possible. I'll get back to you."

"There's a lot of 'maybes' in this conversation." The second politician remarked. "Oh, I'm Dean Anam, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you Dean." Fox replied, smiling sourly. "And yes, I'm aware of that. Frankly, we're surprised to be here… this is not exactly our expertise, but we're rolling with it as best we can." He turned back to his teammates. "For sake of argument, let's say there's one way in and out."

"Sure." Slippy said, only half-listening. Falco and Peppy nodded.

"You have to figure a good amount of the assholes who did this are still in there, especially now. They probably think we're pinned down here. Odds are we're outnumbered and outgunned." Fox rubbed his chin. "So how best do we go about this? Charging in would be just asking to be gunned down."

"Draw them out?" Falco suggested. "I know we won't get all of them, but if we get out of this wing we could probably raise enough hell for them to come at us."

"If we get off this wing, we may want to use the advantage of surprise." Peppy replied. "Unfortunately that only works as long as the people who see us don't live long enough to tell about it."

"I'd feel a lot more comfortable with any of this if I knew what these guys wanted." Falco replied. "The motives they gave are bullshit."

"Agreed, but as said it doesn't really matter. Rescue the girl, kill the bad guy, save the world." Peppy smiled and shrugged.

Fox snorted. "Funny, but I take the point. So how best to go about this?"

"How much do you guys love me?"

All three turned and looked at Slippy, who had an absolutely demonic grin.

"Like a brother? In a totally heterosexual man to man type way?" Falco finally said uncertainly. Dean cackled. "Why, what did you find out?"

"We've got a fire alarm."

Adam rocketed out of the captain's chair he had commandeered, staring at the alarm panel his friend indicated. Sure enough, a fire alarm was going off, and as his friend manipulated the ship display, several others started going off in various parts of the ship. "Shit, is there any way to tell if these are real?"

"Doesn't matter."

"How do you figure?"

"The ship's fire suppression systems don't care if it's real or not, they sensed a fire, and that will make certain protocols go through." His friend threw his keyboard in disgust.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Adam got his answer when the ship control screens at other stations started flashing, the wording "AI HAS CONTROL" coming up over the screens. Angry yelling and cursing started, along with some furious typing, but it didn't matter. All the control panels on the command deck were seemingly locked out.

He stood there for a few minutes, then snarled in frustration. "You, take someone else, get into that damn AI room and take care of this. Everyone else, we're leaving the bridge!" He stormed over, yanking hostages to their feet. "I don't know how they did this, but they will regret it."

"So, seriously, why does this work?" Falco asked, watching Slippy monkey with something in the overhead. Fox and Peppy were set up to cover them.

"People tend to panic around fire." Slippy replied. "Especially on spaceships, which are often considered an 'oxygen rich' environment. So on civilian vessels, after enough fires are noted, the AI takes control of the ship until the fires are dealt with."

"You'd figure there would be problems with people setting off phantom alarms."

"Most people aren't that stupid, happily." Slippy got down with a grunt.

"So what happens if a fire breaks out in the AI's room, then?" Fox asked over his shoulder.

"That room has four or five different non-water-based fire suppression systems. Fire wouldn't last long enough to do any notable damage." Slippy brushed off his hands. "Well, we've now nearly guaranteed a strike at the AI."

"Let's give them a warm welcome then."

The group passed back through the service door, Slippy sealing it behind them, jogging single-file down the narrow corridor. In addition to finding the emergency response rundown, Slippy had also found the map of the service corridors, which went through the ship like a spiderweb, connecting all the floors and most of the wings so maids and other personnel could get around easily.

"They are going to be pissed about this." Falco shook his head, watching Slippy unfold a multitool and start unscrewing part of the wall.

"As long as they don't start gunning down hostages, I can't bring myself to care that much. Besides, angry people don't fight well." Fox replied, supporting the panel Slippy was unscrewing so it wouldn't fall.

"What if they already have?"

"Cross that bridge when we come to it." Peppy said, taking the panel from Fox and setting it aside. "Though I'm sure we'll catch hell if any of the hostages get so much as a scratch."

"Our names would probably be made into mud." Falco leaned into the corridor. "We're clear. Go."

"General, the cruiser liner has come to a halt."

Pepper walked over, looking at the readout screens. "Any messages from the ship?"

"We got a brief encoded one from the ship AI, just saying it had taken command because of emergency procedures."

Pepper blinked once, then rubbed his eyes. "Oh gods almighty, Fox, what the hell are you doing over there?"

"Their job as best they can?" His aide grinned at him. Having gotten a few more hours sleep, he was in a better mood but had still arrived, despite Pepper telling him to just go back to bed. "They're creative, I'll give them that."

"Ian, spare me. Creativity can still get hostages killed."

The team had just rounded a corner when they saw the enemy, which was jogging toward them, guns at their sides. Both groups stopped and there was a moment of surprise, then chaos broke out as everyone drove to prone positions or back around the corner for cover.

"How the HELL did you guys get out of the wing?" Demanded one of the enemy, gun trained on the corner, waiting for someone to look around.

"Not your business. Why don't you make life a whole lot easier on all of us and tell us where the other hostages are?" Fox asked, shoulder a few inches from the edge of the wall. Peppy nudged him and dipped in a pocket, taking out a flashbang, thumb looped into the pin. Fox nodded but held up a finger: wait.

"Screw you guys!"

Fox nodded and Peppy yanked the pin, banking the flashbang around the corner and covering his ears. The other two scrambled to get up from prone and were unable, in the end so dazzled by the flashbang that Falco simply stepped around the corner and got them both with one of his silenced handguns.

"So where do we start looking?" Falco asked, holstering the gun. "They've had more then enough time to get off the bridge."

"Before you ask, the AI hasn't seen them pass by one of the internal cameras, and hasn't seen a shift in air quality enough to pin a location." Slippy said.

"Shit, ok… let me think…" Fox looked around, and his eyes fell on a wall terminal. "This ship have an intercom?"

"It should." Slippy stepped over, bringing the display up. "Yeah, it does." He pressed a few buttons and gestured for Fox to go ahead.

"Attention boarders, this is Fox McCloud, I'm the leader of the task force assigned to rescue the hostages." Fox leaned his shoulders against the wall next to the terminal, trying to keep his voice calm. "Please realize that we do not wish for any of the hostages to be injured. Are you willing to negotiate the release of those remaining in your captivity?"

There was a pause, then an angry but amused voice came on. "McCloud? THE McCloud, the kid pilot that fought and sort-of won the war? That the hell are you doing here trying to negotiate?" Adam's voice changed. "You've done nothing but piss me off."

"Well, you're just a lovely character yourself." Falco snorted.

Fox glared at him. "I'm aware of the situation as it stands. Are you willing to negotiate?"

"I'd have to speak to you face to face."

"Do you take me for a fool?" He demanded. "I'm not going to gift wrap my group for you as additional hostages, sorry."

"Then no deal."

Peppy looked at Fox. "How about one of us comes in to talk over the terms? I'm sure your group still outnumbers us, so one person coming in to talk would hardly be a danger."

"Peppy!" Fox hissed.

"Providing you come in unarmed, that's agreeable."

"Where do you need me?" Once Adam had given a room name, Peppy reached over and hit the intercom button to turn it off.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Falco wanted to know.

"Not really, why, are you guys planning on letting me die?"

Fox stared at him. "Thank you for that responsibility Peppy, I needed more right now."

"Snark later. Ok, this Crew Dining Room C, what's it look like Slip?"

Slippy was already at work on the handheld. "Two doors in and out, I could probably get a view from a vent but there's no extra way in. Looks like one of the sets of doors is offline."

"You guys are the Calvary." Peppy took off the rifle and passed it to Slippy, closing up his hip holsters. "And there's a reason I volunteered for this."

"Enlighten us." Fox frowned.

"Because we all know that even unarmed, I'm still armed. Give me some directions Slip, let's not make the assholes wait."

"… whole thing has just gone to shit." Adam huffed, checking the ammo on his gun.

"You knew they'd have to try to call our bluff." One of his men glanced at him, gun trained on the small cluster of kneeling hostages without looking.

"Yeah, I did, but I figured they'd give us enough time to do what we needed." Adam swiveled an ear. "We have company." He lifted his voice, looking toward the set of doors that was unlocked. "Hands above your head, come in nice and slow."

There was a pause, then one of the doors swung open a lone figure strolling in with his fingers laced behind his head. Adam lifted an eyebrow, this must have been the owner of the older sounding voice on the intercom. "You must be Peppy Hare? Another so-called mercenary hero?"

"You've watched too much TV, I'm afraid. I am Hare but there really isn't such thing as a mercenary hero. There are mercenaries, and there are heroes." Peppy snorted, walking closer and stopping more then ten feet away, hands still laced behind his head, eyes going to the hostages. "Women and children?"

"Better for sympathy right?" Adam gave him a big fake smile. "I thought I asked you to come unarmed."

"I can tell you're just terrified of a middle-aged man with closed hip holsters. Better the gunbelts on and my pants staying up, sunshine."

He blinked, then smiled for real, clapping his hands together. "You, I like. You're real, you aren't giving me that political doubletalk bullshit. Hell even the politicians were giving us that, as we locked them up in their own rooms no less."

"Yeah, he isn't kidding about that." The man holding a gun on the hostages snorted. "They wanted to be real sure we knew they had powerful friends that could punish us if we got caught and plenty of money to give us if we went away."

"Well I guess that's the point of discussion then. May I drop my hands before we continue this discourse?"

"Go ahead old man."

Peppy glared daggers, but let his hands fall, crossing his arms over his chest comfortably. "Look, reason I volunteered myself into this is because it just so happens I'm a psi talent, and even though I'm not much of one, I can tell a lie from across a room." He waited for the blinking to stop, and continued. "That said, it's not going to do me much good to shoot any of you because of the backlash that may happen. I'm here to negotiate. So, let's negotiate: what do you want?"

"You've been told what we want."

"Can the bullshit and tell me what it'll take to let them go free." Peppy nodded toward the hostages, which in spite of blindfolds had oriented on his voice, having figured out a while ago that he was there to at least try to help.

Another silence passed, Adam crossing his arms with his pistol still displayed, Peppy staring at him stonily. Finally Adam shook his head. "I doubt you can negotiate any sort of arrangement that can accommodate us."

"Try me. I have friends in low places. Have you killed anyone?"

Adam frowned at him. "No."

"Then your position isn't as bad as you think. Next question: why do this? I'm sorry, but you guys aren't nearly as professional as you want to seem if the guys I'm with were able to pull one over on you. This isn't our expertise and any of us will admit it." Peppy cocked his head to one side.

Adam pointed the gun at his head. "Not your business."

"Fair enough." He held his hands up in treaty. "If I find a way to get you guys off this ship without pursuit will you go without a fight and without hurting hostages?"

"Live to fight another day?"

"Your wording. The hostages are my first priority, not you guys."

Adam wove his men closer and stepped away, keeping his gun trained on Peppy while they spoke in low urgent tones. Peppy ignored the gun, instead looking at the hostages and murmuring that it'd be over soon and they'd be safe. After a moment, Adam came back, glowering.

"You killed my men, or your buddies did, and you've mucked up our little plan bad. But our original plan of escape is no longer viable, so I'll listen to any ideas you have."

Peppy smiled a bit.

"General, we're receiving a message from the yacht."

"Thanks Ian." Pepper sat and watched the feed come up, smiling when he saw Fox leaning on the console. "Good to see you at the helm, young man. Now what in blue blazes is going on over there?!"

"We have control of the ship and all hostages in our possession." Fox replied. "And happily, no reportable injuries."

Pepper grinned, ignoring the relieved cheers and applause behind him. "Glad to hear it. What of the terrorists?"

"I'm not sure you could even call them terrorists." Peppy leaned into the camera range, smiling a bit. "They're departing. A shuttle will be launching in a few minutes, leave it be."

"Peppy, you know that…"

"Relax General, he had a moment of brilliance there." Fox grinned. "Used to be these luxo liners got hijacked all the time when they first started making the rounds, so now they're covered in tracking beacons. Peppy gambled, figured that any shuttles carried would too. Turns out, he's right. Wait for them to make a landing somewhere and nail'em."

Pepper sat back and appraised Fox, who looked weary but was smiling a bit. "I'll be glad to let someone else handle it. Shall we bring you a cleanup crew?"

"That'd be most appreciated. See you soon."


	10. Chapter 10: Sharp Dressed Men

_Author's Note: It's been pointed out to me that this story has been rolling for nearly two years now. The good news is, this story should only go a few more chapters… I doubt you guys want a continuing soap-opera style series! I'll try to get the next update up a bit quicker._

Chapter Ten: Sharp Dressed Men

The return to the Great Fox went without incident, Fox holding his breath as the docking collars lined up and sealed until Peppy thumped him on the back and told him to breathe before he collapsed. General Pepper said they'd have money in the bank when the banks opened, as not even the government was quite that good at moving money, and was cheerfully relieved when the weary four didn't argue with him.

After hours of delays getting back down to Corneria City, Peppy found himself standing at the edge of the docking bay, looking at the next slip over with some amusement, which was where the cars had been left. "I think they did this on purpose."

"Probably half-assed revenge at us renting THIS slip for racing." Falco replied, looking at Peppy's contemplative look. "What's on your mind?"

"Breakfast."

"You're speaking my language so far, are you cooking?"

"No, I was thinking about finding a decent restaurant and buying. You guys want to come along? I'll pay."

"Free food? I'm there." Fox replied immediately. "But where to go? And don't suggest a waffle house, those places scare me a bit."

"Worried about health code violations?" Falco glanced at him.

"No, man, the waitresses with turquoise eyeshadow…"

_I've got sunshiiiIIIIiiine…_

Peppy snorted, fishing his cell phone out of one the uniform pockets and looking at the screen. "Huh. It's Erin."

"You are so whipped." Now it was Falco's turn to snort.

Peppy ignored that, answering the phone and cutting off the thready beepy notes of 'My Girl'. "Good morning."

"Oh hi. Sorry, I actually meant to leave you a voice mail asking you to drop me a line on how things went." Erin's voice was groggy but awake. "I still have your jacket."

"Don't worry about it. And things went fine, considering the circumstances. No injuries." He glanced at the boys. "The crew here and I were just discussing breakfast out… do you happen to know any good restaurants?"

"I do but I'll only own up if I can meet you there."

"Don't even ask, she's welcome to have breakfast with us." Fox said, watching Peppy's face. "But if she's coming, I'm calling and waking up Chelsea."

"I need a girlfriend." Slippy rubbed his face. Falco punched his shoulder.

Peppy rolled his eyes. "You're welcome to join us, Erin, just be aware we're all short on sleep and the adrenalin has worn off, so we may be a bit punchy. Now, what restaurants were you going to recommend?"

Fox sighed and leaned on the wall, rubbing his eyes. The hostess, between seating others, couldn't help but stare at the group of four, but he ignored it. "Think the banks are open?"

"Probably, besides, you know Pepper wouldn't stiff us." Peppy was also standing, but in a yoga tree stance. He had the morning paper open, reading through it. "Slip, if you don't calm down I'm going to pistol whip you."

"I, just, GAH! How do you guys keep so calm?" Slippy sniveled.

"They're just girls, man." Falco snorted.

"Yeah, but…"

"But?" Erin asked, coming into the restaurant and hugging Peppy from behind. To his credit, he managed not to fall out of the one-legged balance stance. "And thanks for letting me tag along. I figured you guys would be seated by now?"

"We're not that rude." Peppy folded the paper to be open to a page and passed it to Fox as he set his other foot down, lacing an arm over one of Erin's. "There's a car show in the city next month, looks like it's going to be huge too."

"Yeah, I read about it." Fox looked at the ad, nodding good-morning to Erin. "As far as I know, there's going to be thousands of cars there, mostly imports but also some hot rods, racing trucks, you name it. And there's still room, but when I called and asked, they said the proviso on getting cars entered is that sponsorship is needed."

"We sponsor ourselves, don't we?" Falco asked.

"I'm pretty sure that doesn't count." Fox chuckled, then looked at his cell phone when it buzzed. "Text message, Chelsea and Natasha are stuck in traffic, say go ahead and sit down."

A few minutes later they were at one of the larger tables, arranging themselves on where they figured the two on the way would sit. Coffee was immediately ordered, before menus even were passed out.

"So are you guys allowed to talk about what happened last night?" Erin asked, gratefully accepting her coffee and dumping a packet of sugar into it.

"You know, I have no idea." Peppy said thoughtfully. "I don't remember Pepper saying anything about not telling people."

"It didn't make the morning paper, probably make the afternoon edition though." Falco replied. "They could probably hush it up if they really tried, but I'm not sure there'd be a point."

"Besides the fact that we never figured out the real motivations of the assholes?" Fox asked.

"Touche. That's been bugging the hell out of me too."

"We'll probably hear more about it." Slippy replied, taking the paper from Fox and looking at the car show ad. "We need sponsorship for this?"

"Yeah, in some official capacity." Fox replied.

"Pep, didn't Panther offer up some sort of sponsorship?"

Falco nearly did a spit take. "Oh hell no."

Erin looked at Peppy, who was drinking his coffee black while he read a menu. "Panther? He's the guy with the ridiculous first name who you met with, right?"

"Yup, Alphonse. Nice guy, overall, I think Falco overreacts." Peppy dropped the menu onto the table. "Or maybe I'm just more used to him."

"The latter, the man is a letch and I don't like being hit on by dudes." Falco shook off, waving at a waitress. "I'm starving, I'm ordering."

"No arguments here, I guess we'll add on when the stray parties arrive. Do you want me to ask Panther about it, Fox?"

"It'd be an idea, I'm actually kind of curious what he's come up with."

Food was ordered, and conversation turned to more generic topics, politics eventually coming up, but seriousness being passed over for a discussion on whether politicians were sentient creatures. Falco figured they were all mollusks.

"FOXIE!"

Fox somehow turned and got up out of his chair at the same time, catching Chelsea when she tried to tackle him, and lifting her into a dance pose over his head easily. "Good morning to you too, had some caffeine did we?" When she laughed, he let her down in a twirl dismount, sliding around his body in a loop like a stripe on a candy cane. "I'm surprised you were awake when I called."

"We both have to work later today." Natasha explained, rearranging where everyone was sitting. No one argued, though Slippy looked ready to freak out when she took a chair between him and Falco. "And I understand you guys already worked."

"This is true." Fox replied. "Most of us haven't slept much, so forgive any lack of coherency."

"That's a better sentence then I can assemble after a night with no sleep so don't worry about it. Did you guys order?"

"Yeah."

"Guess we'll have to add on, then." Chelsea flagged down the waitress, who didn't seem to mind the order being added on to.

"I envy omnivores." Peppy remarked as plates started landing on the table, watching Fox attack his bacon with a vengeance.

"I feel your pain." Chelsea replied. "Same problems here. Oddly I do have one enzyme coded in, I can digest fish, but not any other meat."

"I don't know if that makes you better off, or worse off, then I." Peppy said thoughtfully, cutting apart a waffle.

"I'd personally say worse. Only able to digest fish?" Falco looked at Chelsea. "That's like partial circumcision, a very strange thing."

"It wasn't my choice in the matter." Chelsea stuck out her tongue at him.

"Partial circumcision? Is that even possible?" Natasha wanted to know, taking a drink of her orange juice.

"I have no idea, I wasn't born in a way where such an act would be possible, thank god." Peppy shook off. "I am not fully comfortable with the idea of blades that close to that part of my anatomy."

"Not a good subject for breakfast." Slippy protested. "No matter what race you are and how you are arranged." When everyone else conceded that, he continued. "Besides, there's weirder ideas out there. Partial WMD disarmament."

"How do you partially disarm a WMD? Cut the wires but leave the explosive bits?" Chelsea wanted to know. Fox put his head in his hands and shook it wearily, Falco guffawed.

"No, I think he means an armory of the things." Peppy replied gently.

"Oh, ok, now I think I get it. Oh that reminds me." She turned to look at Fox. "I need to borrow your handgun."

"Do you have a carry permit?" He replied.

"Uh, no?"

"Then no."

"It doesn't have to be loaded! I just need it for a photo shoot."

Fox blinked at her.

"I'll be mostly naked."

"And I fold, but you do realize that since all the guns I own are duty pieces I'll have to accompany them."

"Am I the only one at this table not whipped?" Falco wanted to know.

"The only reason you aren't is because the girl you broke up with was apparently too much woman for you." Fox replied with a snort.

Falco, who had been taking a drink, did a spit take, causing Peppy and Erin to briefly duck. "You better take that back, piercing boy…"

"Do they usually get along this well?" Natasha directed this at Peppy.

"No, sometimes they get mad at each other."

"At least they can spar if they're upset, they won't spar with me." Slippy shook his head, working his way through hash browns.

"Why not, they afraid of hurting you?" Natasha looked at him curiously.

"No, other way around. They're afraid I'll hurt them."

"Slippy was a midweight to heavyweight wrestler in high school and the Academy." Peppy explained in a droll voice. "Specifically, submission holds and throws."

"No kidding?"

"None. I was never an award winner, but I was decent." Slippy shrugged.

"That explains your musculature."

"Actually, heavy maintenance on ships and cars explains that."

"All this and he isn't blushing yet." Falco snorted, holding up a coffee mug in a begging gesture. The waitress snickered and refilled it.

"God damn it all, Falco!" Slippy sputtered.

Fox startled and reached into a pocket, flipping a cell phone open and putting it to his ear. "Good morning General."

The rest of the table fell silent curiously, looking at Fox, who had sat back in his chair, one hand holding the phone, the other holding a mug of coffee.

"We're having breakfast, why? Oh… wait what? Are you serious?" He listened for a while. "Oh god, do we have to? .. Oh come on that's just blackmail. Jerks. Wait, you too? That's mean. …well I guess bribery will work… Ok, fine, I'll ask them and get back to you after I've had some sleep. When is this trainwreck happening? Right." He hung up and looked at the rest of the table.

"No one else could look so casual about getting phone calls from a Commanding General." Erin said, amazed.

"So, what's going on?" Falco asked. "What are we being blackmailed into?"

"Well, it just so happens that the President… intelligent, wonderful man that he is… is so pleased to get his politicians back he's decided to throw some formal gala next freaking WEEK. And guess what, it is being "highly suggested" that we attend. That's right, not an invite, a borderline order." Fox made a disgusted noise. "Pepper will be there too, of course, and who knows what else. Oh, and we have money in the bank."

"Formal? As in black ties and tuxedoes?" Slippy asked.

"Screw that." Peppy shoved his plates back. "If we have to go, let's go in dress uniforms."

"I don't own a dress uniform." Fox shook his head. "Never got them fitted."

"Well I have to be refitted for them, so I guess we all get to go to the tailor."

"Is it just us invited, or can we bring dates, or what?" Falco wanted to know.

"Looks like we can each bring one person, if we can find someone who wants to dress formal and suffer for an evening in a room full of politicians." Fox replied.

"Sounds like fun, I'll go!" Chelsea practically bounced with glee at the idea.

Fox looked at her. "I reserve the right to preview any dress you want to wear so you don't scandalize the old cranky politicians!"

"Awww, but the old cranky politicians LIKE scandals!"

Peppy shook his head, finishing his coffee and looking at Erin. "Dare I even ask for you to accompany me to this event?"

"Silly question, of course I'll come."

"Thank you, your presence will probably make it easier for me not to yell at the politicians."

"And as always, I'm the only one dateless." Slippy sighed, setting his jaw on his hands and looking dejected.

Natasha looked down at him thoughtfully. "I'll go if you're comfortable going as friends."

He startled and looked at her. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

He slowly smiled. "… That'd be nice. Thank you Natasha."

Peppy glanced around. "Not to interrupt conversations but I think all of us here need to sleep soon or we'll be asleep at the wheel on the way back."

"Yeah, probably right." Falco yawned. "You're still paying."

"Yeah, I got it, but the rest of you get to figure out the tip."

"Fair enough."

"They actually agreed to it? I'm shocked." Panther sounded amused; Peppy could hear the click of a lighter and the sound of a cigarette catching. Panther nearly always smoked when on the phone.

Peppy shrugged, continuing to dry his scalp one-handed, the other hand propping his phone. "Falco still isn't pleased about it, but I imagine he'll live. It came back up because of that sportscar expo."

"Oh right, official sponsorship needed. I'll get my graphics guy on it and have something to show you guys in the next day or two, how's that?"

"Window decals?"

"That's the current plan, nothing too big or showy. Subtlety has its high points, especially in this industry." Panther paused. "Now do tell, how the hell did you guys land that luxo cruiser job?"

"We didn't, we got asked to do it. That we pulled it off as well as we did is a miracle, between you and me."

"Psh, that's why I asked. You guys aren't a ground crew, no offense."

"None taken. What's your interest in it?"

"Well, because of THAT shit going down, everyone's all worried that the normal security measures are compromised." Panther made a totally entertained noise. "So guess who's going to be guarding the fancy-ass politicians at the next to-do."

"We'll see your boys on the job then, because guess who gets to go to that to-do."

"You're kidding, right?"

Peppy sat down on the end of his bed, yawning. "God, I wish. Doesn't look like we have a way to get out of it either. This should be fun."

"Oh come on, don't slam it. Free booze!"

"Yeah, but it'll be champagne, wine, and the like. I'm a beer man."

"You are so low brow."

"And that was so gay to say."

"Shut up." Panther laughed. "I grew up with wine at dinner, alright? I know how to fit a wine to a meal."

"So do I, but that's beside the point. On a perhaps related note, do us all a favor and don't hit on Falco."

"It isn't my fault the man freaks out so easily." He snorted.

Peppy flopped back and stared at the ceiling. "Just because you're blessed with bisexuality doesn't give you the right to freak him out."

"Right, ok fine. Fox fair game still?"

"Don't push your luck."

Panther laughed again, sounding gleeful. "Right, right. I'll call you back when I have something for your boys to look at." That much said, he hung up.

Peppy sighed and ended the call, and managed not to throw the phone as he pulled himself fully onto the bed and sprawled on his stomach. Gods willing, he'd get some sleep before the next catastrophe happened.

"Remind me why we have to do this again?" Falco kvetched, reluctantly letting clothing measurements be taken.

"We don't have to, we just may catch hell if we don't." Fox replied, shooting his cuffs and looking at himself in a full length mirror. "Man. I'd forgotten that we even had a dress uniform design."

"It's not like we have much use for it." Peppy replied. "We wore normal uniforms to the Awards Ceremony, even."

"Now I feel bad about it. This is just posh."

"The earrings don't go with it." Slippy observed. He and Fox were already dressed, Falco was being fitted, Peppy was waiting patiently to be refitted.

"Oh they can deal with it. I'll find some small hoops or something."

Peppy rubbed his eyes. "Fox…"

"If they're going to basically drag me to a formal get together, they can't complain too much if I wear my earrings."

"Well they CAN, actually. I mean, fruit salad is one thing, piercings quite another."

"You're probably the only one of us that really has any fruit salad." Falco reminded him, shrugging into the jacket and looking at himself in one of the mirrors. "Kind of like an Air Force dress uniform, but black. I hate suits but this is pretty sharp."

"James was fond of black." Peppy smiled a bit.

"Matches everything and doesn't readily show blood." Fox snorted. "Honestly I'm surprised you have all of this made." This he said to the tailor.

The tailor, a slender ferret with a cloth tape measure draped around the back of his neck, shrugged. "When you guys initially gave me uniform measurements, I made these up as well, though not exactly fitted. So three of you are rather well off, it's you I'll have to completely restart on." He directed the last bit toward Peppy, who shrugged and sighed. "Though at least it's for a good reason! It's never a bad thing to see someone get back in shape."

"I agree, and so do all the clothing stores I've gone to replacing my wardrobe."

The ferret chuckled and turned back to Falco, who had buttoned up the jacket and fixed his cuffs, spinning on heels in front of the mirrors. "I'll take that to mean you're pleased with the fit."

"Yes, actually."

"What's the reason for all the pomp and to do, dare I ask?" The ferret wove Peppy forward, who stepped up and automatically arranged himself, used to it.

"Nothing that exciting, unfortunately." Fox replied. "If anything interesting happens, I imagine it'll be on the news. It probably will be anyway."

An hour later saw the three younger boys in purchased dress uniforms, and Peppy informed he could pick up his finished uniform in two days. Fox leaned on the hood of his car, peering up at the sky. "Good weather this week at least, not so hot these outfits are insufferable."

"Are you actually bringing a date Falco?" Slippy asked, glancing at him.

"I asked Katt, actually, and she agreed. On a just-friends basis." He hastily added the second part when Fox lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah right. Anyone want to bet me twenty bucks Falco has a shredded back the morning after this shindig?" Fox dug into his wallet and held up the twenty credit note.

"Hey, if I do I'm better off then you, Mr. Teased Into Oblivion. For all the lipstick left on you, I don't think you've gotten any at all."

"Hey, hey, that's enough." Peppy held up his hands. "Let's just resolve this argument with the fact that I'm worse off then either of you, and move along."

"No argument. See you guys later."

"You called him over to see your dress?" Natasha put up her eyebrows. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Not so much for mine, for Chelsea's." Erin sighed, looking in the mirror and smoothing the dress. "You know, one thing is nice about this industry. I had a score of clothing designers a phonecall away, all eager to put me in formal attire."

"And everything else, are you demoing some kind of wonder bra?"

Erin stared at her. "A wonder bra in a strapless dress?"

Natasha laughed. "Ok, you've got me there. He was fine with you calling him again?"

"As near as I can tell, his ex-wife henpecked him, among other things. Between that, and being single so long, me calling him for trivial things doesn't seem to bother him." Erin smiled at her cheerfully.

Nat shook her head. "That strategy won't work forever, babe."

"Yeah, I know, but by then we're either be comfortable with each other or decide we're better off friends."

"I can't see you playing the 'just friends' card on him, sorry."

The door opened and Drax leaned in, a slightly stunned look on his face. "Uh, Erin?"

"Yes?"

"Peppy's here."

"Thank you. Are you alright?"

"Er well that is, um. Sure?"

Natasha looked at Drax, then at Erin. "We've missed something here. I can tell."

"Let's go find out what it is then."

They followed Drax out of the room, Erin walking barefoot in the strapless gown, Natasha in jeans and a tank top. It wasn't hard to see something was going on, a massive amount of female squealing was coming from one of the more common areas, and as they got closer they could hear Peppy laughing.

"Erin! I figured you'd show up sooner or later, if for no other reason to find out what this din is." Peppy made his way through the gathering, looking totally amused. "I guess all this means I've officially gotten to the point where I look good in a uniform again, eh?"

Erin, meanwhile, had stopped in her tracks and was staring wide-eyed. She'd already made the connection that he was in some kind of uniform, but it was nothing like what she'd seen him in at breakfast a few days before. This one was ebony black, somehow without looking funeral ready, accented with rank markings and braids. "Holy mother of god."

"I do hope that's approval."

"Yes, yes it is. Is that new?"

"You called me just as I was getting the final fitting done on this. I decided to wear it over. Lovely gown, by the way." Peppy reached out and caught her hand, twirling her into his arms in an approximation of a dance pose. "'Tish, when was the last time we waltzed?"

Erin looked at him curiously, then made the connection and smiled slowly. "Oh, Gomez…. Hours."

"I'm glad you two knuckleheads found each other, or we'd be dealing with half-finished movie quotes." Natasha observed.

"Buzzkiller." Peppy snickered. "I figured you'd surprise me with what you were planning on wearing, but I do like it. Now, what's the reason you called?"

"Chelsea also is trying on a gown, and while I know Fox said he'd check what she was wearing, she can make him pretty useless. So I wanted you to play dad and make sure her dress is acceptable by high society standards."

"Yes, because I'm so much more used to high society standards. I'm a beer-drinking bachelor living in an apartment alone, remember?" He snickered again, releasing her from the dance pose. "But if you think I'm qualified, sure, as long as she's ok with it."

Erin snorted. "You're male, you're infinitely more qualified then we are."

"Since when?" Natasha wanted to know, following behind them as they walked and entertained when she noticed that Peppy was nearly marching.

"I'm actually inclined to agree with you, Nat. In my opinion, the female of the species is more agile, graceful, deadly, and cruel then the male." Peppy replied, and had to sidestep swats from both of them. "Like either of you can deny that! I'm not going to get into the intelligence debate… I think that the genders have differing intelligence. Both bright but in different ways."

"Well, in theory anyways. The void between Chelsea's ears should have collapsed into a black hole by now." Erin replied.

"I'm not sure that's QUITE how it works, and you've said she wants to be a doctor, how is she going to pull it off if she isn't bright?"

"You can be bright and still be completely clueless."

"Now _that_ I can't argue, in fact, amen to it."

They turned a corner, and Erin pounded a door once with a fist. "Chelsea, we're coming in."

"Sure! It's open."

"You know, part of me is both fascinated and amused by the fact that I'm so welcome here." Peppy said thoughtfully as they entered the room, then stopped, tilting his head at Chelsea.

Chelsea, who had been looking out the window, squealed when she heard his voice and turned on toe, bouncing over happily. "Hi, Peppy! I didn't know you were here!"

"I haven't been here very long." He replied, rubbing his chin with one hand and appraising Chelsea's dress. She was wearing a black halter dress made of velvet and taffeta, the fitted top flowing into a full layered skirt. The dress was decorated with pearls, and from what he could tell it had been professionally altered. A once conservative neckline had been demolished, the halter v now dipped down to her navel, he could in fact see she was wearing a pearl belly button piercing. She also wore matching two-inch pumps and a pearl choker, the beads holding her plaits in black to blend in with her hair. "Interesting dress. Is that a Tulle?"

Chelsea beamed. "Wow! You recognize clothing designers?!"

"A few, thanks to my ex-wife. Besides, Tulle is the sort of thing my mother wore to parties years ago. That's clearly not the original cut, though, even if it's a good job of it."

"Yeah, I know this great tailor and just couldn't stand the original neckline. The original neckline may as well have been an average t-shirt!"

"Times were different then." He conceded, glancing back at the other two women. Natasha was trying to smother laughter, Erin was just smiling and shaking her head. "I think you may have gone a bit far with it though."

"Aw! Why do you say that? I think it looks good, almost like I'm wearing a vest and a skirt!"

"Chelsea, I think you've greatly mistaken what company you will be keeping at this affair."

"… I'm not currently having any affairs." Now she was puzzled.

He nearly slapped his forehead. "I mean, the party we'll be going to. Just hear me out on this, alright?"

"Ok, ok…"

"It's a lovely dress and would work great on a high-dollar night on the town, however, I'm not sure it's totally appropriate for this soirée."

"Lay off the complicated words, you're confusing her." Natasha advised, ignoring Chelsea's withering glare.

"How isn't it? Movie stars have worn a lot less then this on the red carpets!"

"Chelsie, sweetie, some movie stars have gone nearly naked to such things."

"That's my point exactly!" She shook a finger under his nose. He made a massive movement of will and managed not to look at it and therefore down her dress. "I think you're being too conservative, and that the old fogeys at this political black tie thing will maybe get a thrill out of it, but that's it!" She put her hands on her hips. "And I'm sure we all know they can afford expensive tail, so why would they be interested in me?"

"Most of them are married."

"As if that stops them from affording expensive tail!"

"Ei yi yi…"

"So that makes you what, midpriced tail?" Natasha asked Chelsea.

"Not for sale." Chelsea sniffed. "I was a stripper but I wasn't a callgirl, you wicked witch of a feline."

"Ladies? Ahem?" Peppy cleared his throat noisily and eventually got attention. "Bluntly, Chelsea, I find the neck line distracting at best and the piercings to be inappropriate."

"Fox told me he was going to wear his."

"He'll be getting a dress down from me about it. We may be going against our will but we can still follow some general ground rules."

"But why?"

That brought him up short. "Why what?"

"Give me one good reason to follow any rules here, general or any other sort." Chelsea stuck out her tongue. The stud currently through it was neon green and seemed to have spikes on it of some kind, and did nothing to keep Peppy's thoughts on the subject at hand. "I mean you guys don't actually want to go to this thing, right?"

"True. If we had been invited it would have been a totally different situation, this was more or less an order." Peppy rubbed the back of his neck. "None of us are very pleased about it. We aren't money grubbing whores who come at the beck and call of a conceited little government leader."

"Holy crap, that was blunt." Erin looked at him.

"Yeah, but that's how I feel about it. Maybe it's because I'm the only standing member of the original team. James didn't have a Lylatian military background when I met him, he only took some Academy classes because they paid him to." He shrugged. "We're mercenaries, and they are NOT paying us enough to get into monkey suits and play nice with a bunch of politicians we don't like."

"Then why are you?" Chelsea wanted to know.

"Because whether we like it or not, the Cornerian government is our most consistent and highest paying employer. If we don't show up, they'll take it as us thumbing our noses at them and the team reputation will go down in their eyes. Trust me; I've played this game before. It isn't fun."

The three girls stared at him, more then a bit surprised at the tone of his voice.

"So, what, you just submit and toe the line?" Natasha finally asked.

Peppy growled. "Does it sound like I like doing so?"

"How the hell did you just pull that sound off? You're a bunny." They all looked at Chelsea, who was now chewing gum and blew a bubble at them. "And we seem to have strayed from the issue; you went from complaining about my choice in piercings to having a funny rant about the government."

"Ugh, yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, ladies. I'm out of line." Peppy sighed.

"No, you're ok." Erin replied. "You're frustrated, obviously. You're allowed to blow some steam sometimes."

"I suspect his issue is that he hasn't, actually." Nat replied.

Peppy gave Nat a look. "Please don't, I'm struggling to keep my mind out of the gutter as it is. And you aren't helping!" He directed the last bit at Chelsea and again nearly slapped his forehead when she giggled and bounced easily on the high heels. "Ok, I guess I have to concede, Chelsea. I can't think of a good reason for you to go to this in a conservative manner. Knock them dead."

Chelsea grinned wickedly. "That I can do. Oh yes."

"You have just opened a massive can of worms." Erin lifted an eyebrow at Peppy.

"Yes, and I fully intend to dump them down Mr. President's shirt." He replied gaily. "That said, I believe I shall leave Chelsea to her scheming." That said, he turned on heel and strolled back out the door, Erin hurrying to walk with him. "I do hope that wasn't upsetting in any way?" He lifted an eyebrow at her.

"You apologize for yourself too much." She replied. "Though the growl caught me off guard."

"Ah, I should have commented on that long ago."

"The one-quarter lion in you, right?"

"Right. I may not be a meat eater, but I can growl, snarl, and yes, roar. I can also purr, and in my more affectionate moments, will cheek rub. I usually try to quell most of it because it puts people off a bit. They don't expect it."

Erin stopped and stared at him, he paused and stared back, taking a parade rest stance. "I'm trying to wrap my head around the mental image of you purring and I just can't manage it."

"What, the bunny in the military monkey suit shouldn't be able to purr?" He half-smiled.

"The uniform is awesome, and yes, it's kind of… cognitive dissonance. A predator noise from a prey species."

"You are more then welcome to eat me."

"Hey, now!"

He grinned, lightly saluted, and walked away. She stood and watched him leave, then burst into laughter, face cupped in her hands.


	11. Chapter 11: Ballroom Blitz

_Author's Note: QueckSilber is being my editor for this story, and has been the last several chapters. Thank you, QueckSilber._

Chapter Eleven: Ballroom Blitz

"They said they'd come, right?"

Pepper sighed and glanced at Ian. The party, borderline a ball, was still getting started, people were still arriving and the valets were rushing to jockey what normal cars there were around the limos and bulletproof SUV processions. Pepper himself felt a bit out of place, having been more or less nagged into wearing a full tuxedo. He thought Ian wore the getup better. "That's what they said. I have no idea how the President is intending on punishing them if they don't show up, though I wouldn't blame them if they didn't."

"Well, I for one hope they do." Said a new voice.

Pepper turned and lifted an eyebrow at the older gentleman, who had a lovely middle-aged woman at his side. "Who do you think we're talking about may I ask?"

"My intrepid rescuers I imagine." He offered a hand. "Dean Anam, I was one of the politicians on that cruise liner."

"Oh!" Pepper grinned and shook the offered hand. "I thought you seemed more familiar then most here. You were the one who didn't start yelling profanities when the rescue shuttles arrived, if I remember correctly."

Dean grinned. "I was just happy to have made it out of there with my family whole. Were the kidnappers caught?"

"Yes, though it may be a few more days before an official release is made about it. Last I heard, the Feds are still trying to put together a coherent stream of events." Pepper shrugged, then twitched an ear, turning toward the entrance.

The room the event was held in was rather large, complete with red carpets leading in. Everyone was formally dressed, and everything looked expensive. The theory was that the President had arranged this to try to regain the confidence of some politicians, as the hostage situation pointed to a security leak. Tables were set but currently everyone was snootily mingling. Still, though, the effect wasn't lost when four black uniforms entered the room and fanned out to stand even, surveying the room with dates at their sides.

"Speak of the devils." Pepper finally said, eyebrows lifting. He of course remembered those uniforms, though he hadn't seen them in a while.

Meanwhile, the Star Fox team had zeroed in on him, and stepped off the red carpets, walking toward him. The crowd parted, letting them by unimpeded, all staring. A few low admiring whistles echoed, and were ignored.

"General." Fox said by way of greeting, pushing his fur out of his eyes with one hand. Commander's rank bars decorated the black uniform, he also had different roping then the others. Pepper was amused to notice that a long line of small silver hoops went up the outer edge of one of his ears, hooked together with a fine silver chain. It was an interesting look but also made it seem like his ear had a zipper. "I'm glad to see we don't suffer alone."

"Like I can ever get out of these things." He grinned. "I'm glad to see that you fellows dressed somewhat appropriately. I was honestly expecting you all to arrive in jeans just out of spite."

"We're spiteful, but not stupid." Fox grinned back.

"And who are these lovely ladies you're all escorting. I do recognize Katt, though! It's good to see you again." He sent a smile toward her.

"Hi, General, good to see you're well." Katt smiled back, one hand set on one of Falco's elbows. She'd been caught off guard by the invitation, but figured hell, you only live once. And just in case, she'd cut the tips off her handclaws.

"Ok, all of you, I'm off duty." He set his hands on his hips. "My name is Reginald, you're free to use it." That said, he turned back toward Fox, looking at the younger girl at his side. A doe, gothic with tattoos showing, smiling cheerfully at him. "And you are?"  
Introductions went around, Dean and his wife eventually stepping forward to join in the introductory round. Everyone took who each other were in stride, and afterwards most of them wandered off in pairs to investigate the drinks being offered or to mingle.

"Do you think those servers will actually give the boys booze?" Peppy thoughtfully asked Reginald.

The general snorted. "I have no idea. None of'em look legally able to drink, so we'll just have to see. Did all of you drive in?"

"Yes, and you should have seen the looks on the valets' faces." Erin said. "Two imports, a hot rod, and a huge truck next to a long line of black SUVs."

"The SUVs probably belong to the President." Ian snorted. "They need to get creative with the colors, I imagine everyone knows to look for the motorcade."

"Oh, Peppy, I wanted to give you some advanced warning. A lot of the brass is here and that includes General Wainwright."

"That figures." He sighed.

Erin glanced at him. "Who?"

Peppy snorted. "General Nathaniel Atkinson Wainwright III."

"The poor bastard who married his ex-wife." Ian inserted as clarification and was glared into behaving by Reginald. "Uh, no offence, Pep."

"None taken." He replied. "Considering what happened, I can't really complain. Thanks for the warning."

"Hey, it's the least I can do."

"My god, Foxy, this is so amazing." Chelsea craned her neck around, taking in the room and the people in it. Everyone nearby was staring at them, most of them focused on Chelsea. She'd taken Peppy's advice to heart and ditched the conservative heels, now on stilettos that had straps crisscrossing up her legs nearly to her knees. She'd also added some jewelry and had her hair done, it now bounced around her head in a scrunch of ringlet curls.

"I'm glad you think so, sweetheart." Fox chuckled weakly. She had settled both hands on the inside of one of his elbows, and even that much of a touch was terribly distracting.

"You don't like this sort of thing?" She looked at him curiously.

"In the words of a wise pervert, this thing is not my bag, baby." He snorted. "I guess I'm a bit of a roughneck, and it probably doesn't help that my dad hated this sort of thing too. These people know I'm not their sort." He looked at her. "Why, do you like this sort of thing?"

"Oh, this is my first time going to something so formal. I always wanted to though when I was little! I mean what little girl doesn't want to be a princess at a ball?" She giggled softly. "And then when I was working at the club, we always got these guys in suits and heard tell of them arriving in limousines, and we were always left wondering what it was like."

"Stuffy."

She laughed and turned him, resting her forearms on his shoulders, fingers linking behind his neck. "You're such a killjoy sometimes!"

"Considering the only pleasure I'm getting out of this is that you're here, I'm afraid you may have to let me be a killjoy." He sighed.

"Then focus on me!"

"Then I'd have to find a broom closet for us to hide in." He smiled a bit. "My self control only goes so far, beautiful."

She snorted and released him, the pair returning to wandering through the expensively dressed crowd. "I do feel kind of young to be here." She finally admitted, looking around. "I mean, I always figured these guys had young girlfriends."

"They probably do." He muttered as quietly as he could, wondering if they'd get out of here without being strung up by politicians.

Chelsea stopped, peering off. "Ohmigod, is that the President?! It is! Can I say hi?!"

This earned her a stare, then Fox shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so, but try not to pounce on him. I'd hate to have to beat up his Secret Service for trying to take you into custody."

"Mm, that sounds dirty, take me into custody…"

"You are not helping my self control." He snorted and led her over. An aging and just slightly overweight gerbil, Corneria's current elected leader was easy to spot in a crowd, in nothing else because you could follow the sound of someone protesting about getting hit by a swinging tail. "Evening, Mr. President."

"Ah, Fox McCloud." He grinned and excused himself from the conversation he'd been in, sizing up Fox's uniform with a critical eye. "I'm quite happy to see that your team is here. That was a great piece of work on the cruise liner."

"Thank you sir, but in the future I'd like you to keep in mind that we are not a ground reconnaissance group." Fox replied, keeping his voice cool. "I'm afraid that it was in fact a situation where the enemy's incompetence is what kept us alive and well."

He snorted, waving it off. "Nonsense. I'm sure your group will perform just as well in the future when called upon." Chelsea choked back a giggle, and he seemed to notice her, tilting his head and taking her in, long tail sweeping back and forth. "Well hello young lady, who are you?"

Chelsea smiled brilliantly and offered a hand, enthusiastically shaking his hand. "Hello Mr. President. I'm Chelsea. I'm honored to meet you."

He merely nodded, looking at a loss for words but trying to speak anyway. "That's a lovely dress."

"Thank you, I had it altered to fit me right and stuff. I didn't want to disappear in a sea of little black dresses."

Fox swallowed laughter. "Perhaps we should leave you to more important conversations, sir." He saluted lightly and led Chelsea away, who pouted but went.

"Awww why did we have to go?"

"Because if he tried to hit on you, I'd have decked him." Fox replied dryly. "Even if we're not officially going out or anything."

"Oh please, I'm sure I can call upon you in the future to perform well." She smiled at him.

"Stop the innuendo or I find a broom closet."

"Oh who said you were in charge?"

Fox just laughed, knowing full well that he wasn't.

Erin accepted a glass of champagne from one of the servers, looking at Peppy curiously when he gently refused. "Not drinking?"

"I'm driving. The last time I had any amount of alcohol and touched a car, I wrecked it." He shook his head. "Once was enough, trust me. Besides, I'm a beer man. Champagne is a bit fancy for my taste unless it's the right setting."

"And this isn't the right setting?" She chortled, poking his ribs.

He smiled. "To me, champagne is something to be had at a romantic dinner for two where an expensive ring may or may not be brought up."

"Oh, I'm noting that for future use. How about wine?"

"Meals and cooking, the occasional glass if the mood strikes me. I can cook some fairly impressive meals using the right wines."

"You must cook for me again, then."

Peppy smiled, moving over to a table and getting himself a glass of punch which he hoped was non-alcoholic. "That can definitely be arranged, gorgeous. Just give me an idea about what you want to eat and which house you'd prefer to eat it in."

"You'd come to my house to cook?"

"Why not?"

"Since when do you cook?" A new voice asked.

Peppy froze with the glass half way to his mouth, then sighed and lowered it, turning to orient on the voice and mustering a weak smile. "Hello Celeste."

Celeste tilted her head, one hand gracefully holding a glass of what looked like red wine. Peppy knew it had to be an expensive vintage. She wore an understated evening dress and simple jewelry, hair swept away from her face and piled on top of her head. "Tyler. It's been a long time."

"That it has. You look like you're doing well."

That earned him a smile. "I am. You haven't answered my question. Since when do you cook?"

"I took some gourmet and cultural cooking classes after you left me." He replied neutrally.

"That explains how you looked on TV! You look better now though, almost like when we met."

Erin looked at Peppy and could almost feel the tenseness radiating off him, and looked back to the older woman, clearing her throat noisily.

Celeste blinked and looked at her. "Oh pardon me. And you are?" She offered a hand daintily.

Erin grabbed it and shook it, more a guy's handshake and she knew it. "My name is Erin, I'm here with Peppy tonight."

"Oh really?" That earned her a surprised look, then Celeste looked back at Peppy with a somehow disapproving look. "Oh, have you met my husband yet?"

"Actually no, I know of him but I've never been formally introduced."

She nodded and looked around, focusing on someone else. "Nate hun, can you spare a moment?"

A few seconds later, a middle-aged raccoon in a tuxedo joined them, holding a half-empty glass of champagne and looking bored. "Hello dear. Dreadfully boring affair even with all the notables about…"

Erin stared at this, then looked at Peppy incredulously, who just shook his head.

"Peppy, this is my husband, General Nathaniel Wainwright the third. Nate, this is my first husband, Tyler Hare."

The raccoon looked surprised, then offered a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Celeste has told me quite a bit about you, Mr. Hare."

"And it's still a pleasure? I'm amazed." Peppy replied, shaking his hand.

"Now why would you say something like that?"

Peppy lifted an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"She owes him a piano." Erin said, not thinking, and almost slapped herself.

Peppy looked at her, Celeste inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, Nathaniel double taked and then stared. "Erin Mai?" Nathaniel finally said, finishing his glass of champagne and looking stunned.

"Yes, that's my name."

He grinned and full-on bowed, taking her hand. "Milady, I have had the pleasure of perusing the magazines you haunt for the last decade or more of my life. To meet you in person is beyond a pleasure."

Erin giggled, free hand resting on her chest, looking down at him. Peppy settled for lifting an eyebrow again, not sure how to react to all this. "Oh! Well, thank you, I'm always glad to know my work is appreciated."

"Nath-AN-iel, do you know this woman?" Celeste sputtered, free hand settling on her hip.

Nathaniel straightened up, clasping Erin's hand between two of his own. "Only by dream and visage. I imagine most of the men on the planet know of her."

Celeste directed her icy gaze to Erin, who was blushing. "Dare I even ask what you do for a living?"

"I'm a model, magazine and fashion." Erin replied, smiling sweetly at her.

"You're a bleeding Playboy Bunny?!"

"Oh, please. No. I am however a Victoria's Secret Angel."

"You'd be more set for the bunny part by sheer default, wouldn't you Celeste?" Peppy took a drink of his punch, smiling.

"Nnyes, I suppose she would." Nate agreed, releasing Erin's hand and totally ignoring his wife's ire. "Now what is this about a piano? It's not that ridiculous white baby grand in my house, is it?"

"Nate!" Celeste protested, glaring daggers.

"I used to own a white baby grand piano, yes. Celeste decided to take it with her in the divorce." Peppy shrugged wearily. "If there's a winged fox logo on the soundboard, yes, it was mine."

"I'll take a look when I get home, perhaps we can work something out. Gods knows I don't play the thing and it takes up a ridiculous amount of space. I don't even know when it was last tuned."

"Absolutely not!" Celeste snapped, voice cold, one foot tapping the floor.

Nate blinked at looked at her. "I hardly see why not, neither of us play, dear."

"It was a wedding gift from my parents, why should I give it to my EX husband?" She glowered.

Seeing Nate waver, Erin rolled her eyes and stepped back up to the plate. "Why would your parents give you a piano if you don't play? Peppy does."

Peppy meanwhile was looking around and realizing this was quickly gaining the attention of everyone nearby, and wasn't sure how to go about breaking it up. He wasn't going to try to get in the middle of this, if only because he didn't want his mental walls that battered this early in the evening. So instead, he sidled around to where Nate was standing.

"Sweetie, you don't want to get into this with me." Celeste replied, eyes narrowing. "You have no idea what you're talking about, so stay out of it."

"Oh, but I think I do." Erin replied, crossing her arms. "And don't give me that 'sweetie' bullshit, do I look like a little girl to you?"

"So, how'd you meet her?" Nate asked Peppy, gesturing his empty glass at Erin then trading his empty for a full from a server brave enough to creep up to this scene.

"A random act of chivalry."

"Ah. Capital. Is it actually your piano?"

"I would not be surprised at all, though I admit I figured she sold it."

"Celeste brags about it, custom of yadda-blah. Honestly, I'm more proud of the signed guitars I have."

"We may have to have coffee someday, Nate."

"A stellar idea."

"Do you think we should break this up?"

"I do not even want to try, my good man. Besides, in an earlier life I'd have paid to see it."

"Fair enough."

Celeste, meanwhile, had gotten fed up with Erin's snarking. In a sudden move, she flipped her wine glass forward, attempting to splatter the remains of the red vintage over Erin's strapless gown. Erin saw it coming, and had a moment without thought, sidestepping the splatter and moving, grabbing Celeste's hand and forcing the wineglass down toward Celeste's body. Celeste cried out, then shrieked in surprise when Erin backhanded her as hard as she could, then took the wineglass and stepped back.

"Guess who's been taking self defense lessons from your ex-husband, bitch." Erin said a bit breathlessly.

Peppy was gaping, then finally said, "Nice modification of a gun disarm. I'm impressed."

"So am I. Now, please explain to me what is going on, and why I shouldn't throw all of you out, or take you under arrest." The guard who had arrived was managing a straight face admirably, Peppy recognized him as one of Panther's men.

Erin and Celeste pointed at each other, and said as one, "She started it!"

"Jinx, you owe each other cookies." Fox suggested, who had also showed up to see what was going on. "Seriously, what the hell?"

"I agree, I'd love to hear the explanation for this." The President had also showed up.

Peppy sighed and tried to give those concerned a short version of what had happened. Nate, meanwhile, was trying to calm a nearly hysterical Celeste. Erin gave the empty glass to a server.

"I can't believe you stood by and allowed that!" Celeste wailed.

"Celeste, dear, what should I do, hit a woman?" Nate wanted to now, which got him glowered at again.

"This is more then a bit out of line, I hope you know." The President remarked to Peppy once he was done explaining.

"You say that like it's my fault." Peppy replied, huffing. "What are you suggesting we do about it, sir?"

"That's a damn good question. It's going to be hard enough to keep out of the news as it is, if I have the four of you removed, it'll be there guaranteed." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know about you, but I could do without that press."

"So could I." Peppy admitted. "Perhaps I should just endeavor to keep my date away from General Wainwright's wife?"

"That works for me." The President stepped over and leveled a finger at both women, who paid attention to this strange spectacle. "If either of you two ladies cause any more trouble tonight, you will be hearing about it from me, are we clear on this?"

"Yes sir." Erin replied. Celeste nodded wordlessly.

The crowd slowly dispersed. Nate glanced at Peppy. "What's your phone number?"

"I don't have anything to write on but Pepper has it."

"I'll ask him then. Come on Celeste, let's sit down a while…" Nate guided Celeste away, who did not look happy at all.

"Damn, girl, what brought that on?" Chelsea asked, staring at Erin.

"Eh, she was being a cold hearted bitch. No offense, Peppy."

"None taken." He replied. "Though I admit I was a bit surprised you brought it up."

"It just slipped out, I'm sorry."

"Forgiven. That was a nice disarm though, even if you had a soft target."

Erin snorted. "Thanks. I can't believe I pulled it off."

"Perhaps we should all return to that table we've been assigned and wait for all this arubahah to calm down." Fox suggested. "God knows you've given them all something to gossip about."

"Agreed." Peppy nodded, and the girls decided to go along with it, hunting down their table and taking seats around the circle. Chelsea leveraged Peppy and Erin for more details, which meant supplying some backstory.

By the time that was done, Falco wandered up, walking with Katt hand in hand. "I won't ask what that was all about." He said simply, sitting down roughly.

"Where have you been all this time?" Fox wanted to know.

"He's been schmoozing every financial analyst, stock broker, and banker in the place." Katt replied, shaking her head. "I swear it was another language they were speaking."

"I figure if I'm going to be here I may as well learn something." Falco shrugged and smiled. "And hey, I did. I've got some ideas for our team account to talk to you about, Fox."

"Will I understand any of these ideas?"

"Sure, it's not that complicated and we may even get the bills paid off faster."

"Right then."

"I guess that leaves the question as to where Slippy is." Peppy said, contemplating a half-full glass of punch.

"Being the only one of the group to waltz, apparently." Slippy replied, stepping up to the table and leaning on the back of Fox's chair. "I couldn't get them to play a decent farandole though."

"A decent whatnow?" Falco asked.

"Let's just say I learned some things from the Ren Fairs I used to attend."

Natasha shook her head, looking terribly amused. "I'll say I didn't expect it, but hey, this evening has just been full of pleasant surprises. We heard about what happened, Erin."

"And literally heard it. Talk about the slap heard around the room." Slippy snorted.

"She deserved it." Erin smiled and shrugged.

"The night is going to seem much more boring in comparison, sadly." Peppy finished off his punch.

"Who says we have to stay the entire time?" Falco wanted to know. "We came, we saw, everyone noted our presence. Doesn't look like we'll be missing any speeches or the like."

"I don't entirely approve of cutting." Fox frowned. "I mean I don't really want to be here but if we suddenly disappear that won't be well taken."

"Like anyone here would blame us." Peppy said, smiling a touch.

"Oh, wait, you approve of playing hooky?" Fox looked at him, stunned.

"I have better things I could be doing with my time."

"I'm sure you do." Natasha smiled a bit, grabbing a glass of wine from a nervous looking server.

"Ha. Actually, if we are going to leave, let's make a group of it shall we?" Peppy looked at his watch. "It's a lovely night and I bet the Cabana Club is still open."

"I could stand to go there again." Erin said, lifting her eyebrows.

"That's the place Bill recommended to you, right? Ska club?" Falco asked.

"Among other things, I have no idea what their set is for tonight." Peppy replied. "But I'd be willing to find out."

"I can't believe we're talking about taking off." Slippy said. "We pay for these uniforms and jump through all the red tape to get in…"

"Are you saying you'd rather be here then a dance club?" Natasha wanted to know.

"Very few could answer yes to that question; I am not one of them." He admitted.

Fox huffed. "What do you think Chelsea?"

"Sounds like fun to me!"

"Right. So I guess we play hooky?" Fox looked around the table and got a round of nods. "Alright then, let's meet in the parking lot and discuss travel arrangements." He stood, everyone else following his lead. "Though if I get reamed for this, you're all hearing about it." This got him derisive snorts and nods.

"Oh hey, I'll catch up." Peppy said after a moment, looking around and then cutting across the room, Erin hurrying to follow him. "Hey, General."

Pepper looked up and managed a smile for Peppy. Instead of spending the eve socializing, he had retreated to his table, staring moodily at a glass of champagne he wasn't bothering drinking. Sitting next to him was Ian, but Peppy wasn't surprised. Where General Pepper went, his aide followed about two steps behind him, making sure everything was in order including Pepper. It'd been that way longer then Fox was alive by Peppy's count, and hell, they made a better couple then he and his ex-wife ever had. "For god's sake, you can call me Reginald."

"Right." Peppy grinned. "The boys, myself, and the ladies we're escorting are going to play hooky. As the plan is set, we're all hitting the Cabana Club, and I thought it would be fortuitous to invite you along."

Pepper blinked, then lifted his eyebrows. "You're coming up admitting to your sometimes superior officer that you're ditching."

"That's about the size of it."

"I could just report you."

"But, you won't."  
"Personally, I'd love to go. The Cabana Club? The name alone intrigues me." Ian grinned, shoving his mane back. "Do you suppose we can?" This was directed at Pepper.

"I don't…" Pepper cut himself off when Ian made puppy dog eyes. "Oh, all RIGHT, but if I get in trouble you're all hearing about it!"

"Naturally. Come on, let's not make the boys wait."

"Can we follow you there?"

"Sure, I'll wait on the road leading out of here. Still have the same car?"

"Indeed."

Peppy walked away, Pepper and Ian going elsewhere to retrieve their coats from the coat check. Erin, who was still at Peppy's arm, lifted her eyebrows at him. "Are they?"

"Yes."

"And they get away with it?"

"Everyone quietly looks the other way. Reggie keeps the military in line, Ian keeps Reggie in line and sane. Besides, don't ask, don't tell." Peppy shrugged, moving his arm to simply hold her hand once they got out of the main room. "They seem to work well together, and used to be they'd invite the boys and I over for cookouts all the time. This was before the war, mind."

"Oh."

"Actually this is the first time since then I'll get to hang out with them in a casual situation. Should be fun." Peppy grinned.

They made it outside the building, and stopped to stare. The cars were already lined up, Fox's and Falco's cars revving up eagerly, Slippy's huge truck idling. Peppy's Roadrunner sat between Falco's NSX and Slippy's truck, idling with the door open and a valet waiting patiently. The rest of the valets had gathered around, staring at this procession with a look of awe.

"Hey man, what kept you?" Falco asked, standing out of the seat of his car.

"I decided to invite someone else along. Reggie and Ian are going to join us, unless any of you have a protest." Peppy replied, opening the passenger seat for Erin then going around to the driver's side.

"Holy shit, you're kidding." He burst out laughing. "This should be interesting."

"Well I guarantee it'll be more interesting then what's going on inside." Pepper replied, coming down the stairs. "You boys willing to wait while the valets get my car?"

"Hah, sure." Fox replied. "Why not?"

Less then ten minutes later the procession of five cars had pulled away from the government building, rolling through Corneria City easily. Since Peppy knew where they were going better then the younger boys did, he pulled out ahead and led the procession. It was getting on in the evening; the last brushes of sunlight barely lit the skyscrapers. In a seeming effort to compete with the sun, as darkness fell, downtown Corneria City lit up, a maze of streetlights and florescence. Cars and taxis rolled, some languid some rushing, and almost everywhere a heavy bass thump was prevalent.

In the case of the convoy, the bass thump came from Falco's car.

Surprisingly, even though the Cabana Club looked busy, they all found parking together, and in the front row. The parking lot was full of imports and roadsters, which meant Slippy's truck looked like a semi tractor trying to hide in a herd of sedans.

"You know what my one reservation is about all this?" Fox said, leaning on the top of his car door and looking at everyone else as they got out. "We're still in frigging uniform."

"True." Peppy undid the jacket and tossed it back in the car, then untucked the buttondown shirt and opened it. This done, he was in a white tank top, black pants and dress shirt, and black dress shoes. "We'll all look kind of alike, but hey, if anyone asks it's easily explainable."

"That's an excellent idea, Pep." Falco said, stripping out of the jacket. Everyone else followed suit, Reginald and Ian eventually joining the group in tux pants and untucked tux shirts.

"Well now we definitely look the part of someone playing hooky." Slippy said, looking around with a smile. "And all the girls are outdressing us."

"We'll live. Come on."

They walked into the club in pairs, and after some discussion on how cover was going to be paid, Reginald wove them all off and paid everyone's door fees. After that everyone quickly dispersed, the younger members disappearing into the crowd.

"Guess it's not a swing night, eh?" Erin asked, looking back at Peppy. They had ended up on the edge of the dance floor, Erin leaning back against Peppy, whose hands rested on her hips gently.

"Eh, I'll live. It's not gangster rap or country linedancing." He looked toward the DJ, who was wearing some fairly extensive body makeup which left Peppy wondering where the makeup ended and clothes began. "Besides, babe, I used to be quite the dancer when I was younger. I was in dance clubs every night I wasn't on duty. That's how I met Celeste."

"Yeah, but I'm sure that clubbing back then didn't exactly encompass candy ravers." She chuckled and looked back at him.

"True, but you know what's funny?" He looked down at her. "A lot of the dance music now is remixes of what I danced to then." He perked his ears as the music changed and smiled, stepping away from her and onto the dance floor, dress shoes sliding easily as he spun then struck a pose, offering a hand to her. She stared at him, then stepped forward and took his hand, squeaking and laughing when he spun her into his arms easily, grinning. "Follow my lead?"

"I have no idea what I'm doing!" She protested, laughing and leaning into his arms. "I was always a wall flower during high school dances! I mean, I limped through the steps when we did swing dance."

"Well, you work out, so you should do fine. Just relax, eh? If I can teach you self defense, I can teach you to dance." When she smiled and nodded, he started moving again, showing her footwork as he went.

"You know, this is far from my normal fare, but I like this place." Fox remarked, then grinned when Reginald arrived with a drink tray he'd seemingly appropriated off a barmaid, which was loaded with margaritas. "Are those virgin?"

"Nope. I won't tell if you won't." Reginald replied with a grin.

Hands dove for glasses, Fox and Chelsea both grabbing one, Falco leaning from where he was standing to grab one and also pass one to Katt.

"By the way, thanks for paying to get us in." Chelsea said, licking salt off the glass. Fox looked at this and got glassy-eyed.

"No problem at all, I haven't had a night out in ages, so I figure it was an appropriate thank-you." He wove a hand grandly.

"Well why haven't you?"

"Work, mostly. I'm also getting old, staying out late loses its flair after a while."

"Liar." Ian snorted, slurping his margarita gladly.

"I just never figured I'd be hanging out with you." Falco said, looking at Reggie. "I mean, you're my boss on occasion."

"Eh, it's not one of those occasions right now, let it go."

"As for getting old, I have the argument against that reason." Katt inserted, pointing at the dance floor.

They followed her point, and several burst into surprised laughter. Peppy had cleared part of the dance floor and was swinging Erin through a chaotic range of steps and twirls, tossing her through the air easily. Erin was laughing and trying desperately to keep up, learning as she went, one hand holding up her gown's long skirt so she and Peppy didn't trip over it.

"That's the Lindy Hop." Reggie said after a moment, lifting an eyebrow and finishing his margarita. "Or something like it, looks like he's gone pretty free-form to go with the music."

"I totally forgot he can dance." Ian said. "I guess Katt's right, Reg, you can't cop out and say you're old."

"Hell, I'm young and I have no idea what the hell they're doing." Fox said. "But then my typical music experience leaves me with torn clothes, a bloody nose, and a sense of relief that no one tore out my piercings."

"I totally do not get the metal scene." Katt shook her head.

"You can wear a corset and platforms and no one asks." Chelsea told her. Katt blinked, then seemed to think that over.

"Looks like Slip knows what's going on too." Falco said. "Eh, whatever, long as they have fun. Come on Katt, let's see if we can figure out what the hell they're doing."

Peppy panted raggedly as he stepped off the dance floor, Erin weak from laughter and leaning into his side. "Ok, I need a drink before we continue."

"Fair enough." Erin replied, standing with him at the bar. The bartender didn't even ask, sliding two sports drinks down to them. "Thanks."

"I started stocking sports drinks when we started having dance competitions here." The bartender replied, not surprised when Peppy opened his and chugged half of it. "Turns out it was a good investment too, seems even the hip hop group sweat a good bit." He paused, looking at Erin, then at Peppy. "You two look familiar."

"We were here about a week ago. I was in a zoot suit, if it helps." Peppy replied, wiping sweat away on the back of his hand. The bartender offered him one of the white bar towels, he nodded thankfully.

"No, that isn't what I mean." The bartender, a caracal, looked between them curiously. "Either of you been on TV?"

"Not happily." Peppy snorted, paying for the drinks and also passing over a good-sized tip. "Thanks for the towel."

"No problem."

He stepped away from the bar, but instead of returning to the dance floor, found a support pillar to lean on. Erin joined him, leaning into his side and watching everyone else dance. "Having a good time?"

"Actually yes, this has been a blast so far." She grinned up at him, then looked toward the dance floor again. The DJ had changed music styles, more a hip-hop beat, and the crowd seemed to have shifted accordingly. "Guess we're sitting this one out?" She asked, finishing her sports drink and looping her tail around one of his legs.

"What makes you say that?" He grinned at her, relieving her of her empty drink container then chucking both empty containers in a trashcan. "This has a great dance beat. Come on."

Erin chuckled and followed, figuring she just had to see this, and got more then a bit surprised when Peppy grabbed her and pulled her in tight, quietly counting off the cha-cha beat until she heard it and started moving with it. Erin gave up trying to hold the long gown off the floor and just moved with it, not resisting the grip.

What amazed her really was how animated he was through all this. He acted twenty-five years old and like he was a taught dancer, he not only knew the moves but showed her how to do hers. If he was weary, he wasn't letting it show. He did startle when another girl stepped in, he slid and didn't let her cut, lifting an eyebrow at her. The woman, a mink that Erin guessed was about the same age as her, did the eyebrow lift back at him.

"I'm here with her." Peppy said over the music, nodding at Erin. Erin took the moment and gathered the too-long skirt of the dress, tying it off so the skirt wasn't dragging anymore. She was going to get read a riot act by the designer, she was willing to bet.

"Oh really? Well now you're here with both of us." She replied, stepping in behind him, hands trailing then settling on his back. Peppy shook off a bit and looked at Erin, who shrugged at him. He shrugged back and started moving to the music again, slowing down from the cha-cha beat as the music changed. He had to adapt his dance steps to deal with two women, but he didn't mind. Hell, how long had it been since something like this had happened to him? Oh the fringe benefits of getting back in shape.

Erin had her back to Peppy's chest when she felt instead of heard the change, a low rumble that didn't coincide with the bass thump of the music. She blinked and looked over one of her shoulders at him. "Are you purring?"

"Can you blame me?" He wanted to know, smiling sheepishly.

She burst into laughter, unable to help it.

"Ok, I'm beat, I'm sitting down." Falco collapsed into a chair, head tilted back and gasping for air. "How the hell does he do it? I'm going to have to change my work out plan, I'm being whipped by someone who could be my dad!"

Katt flopped down in the chair next to him, wiping at sweat. "Trust me, babe, I have no idea. I work out a few days a week, and I feel beat."

"Might have something to do with the fact that you don't know what you're doing." Reggie suggested, a half-empty daiquiri glass cradled in one hand.

"Why does it not surprise me that you're into mixed drinks?" Falco wanted to know, looking at him.

"Eh, to me they take more talent to make then popping open a bottle of some generic beer. I only drink beer when I'm at a reputable microbrewery, generally." Reggie shrugged. "Hey it's better then being a wine snob."

"Shut up." Ian snorted, holding a glass of wine.

"Oh god, is that Britney Spears?" Katt moaned, covering her ears at the music.

"How should I know?" Reggie blinked at her.

"I'm surprised Peppy's still dancing to this stuff and oh holy god." Falco's voice changed when he turned back to the dance floor and gaped. "Oh that is just unfair!"

"What?" Katt uncovered her ears, turning her gaze to where his was.

"I'd say Tyler understands how to dance to pop and hiphop." Ian said with a grin, finishing his wine.

Peppy was still between the two women on the dance floor, moving and spinning them both one-handed. His dress shirt was slouching off his shoulders, and a space had cleared around the trio, some standing nearby and clapping to the beat as they danced.

"What the hell, man? He could be my DAD and he gets two women?!" Falco's voice took on an almost obnoxious whine.

"Well what do you expect?" Katt looked at him. "You're an asshole, and he's James Bond in a weightlifter's bod."

"Hey now…!"

Katt laughed and shifted to sit in his lap, kissing him. "Relax, babe."

"It's still unfair."

"Well maybe once you grow up a bit, you'll get two girls."

"You are such a bitch."

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

Peppy shook out, settling into another tango style beat. Erin was in front of him, leaning back against one of his shoulders. She had learned amazingly fast, and he managed not to trip up as her tail repeatedly found its way around one of his legs. He had one arm around her, the other behind him, resting on the hip of the as-yet-unintroduced mink. Good lord, he was going to be sore in the morning…

Erin turned without moving her tail, leaning up to kiss his cheek mid dance step. The mink chose this moment to get the dress shirt the rest of the way off one of his shoulders, and Peppy wobbled, shaking his head to clear it, gasping for air. Erin saw it and frowned, turning his head to look at his eyes, and gaped when he staggered, ceasing his dance steps entirely and standing precariously, arms out for balance.

"Peppy? Peppy are you alright?" Her hands found his shoulders, fighting to steady him as his muscle-heavy weight wavered again, his head shaking vigorously.

"Just… dizzy…"

"Ok, we're sitting down now." She grabbed one of his hands and tugged, luckily the mink had also realized something was up and helped him off the dance floor. Peppy nearly collapsed into a chair, cradling his head as it spun. "Stay put, I'm going to grab Chelsea and have her look at you."

Peppy opened his mouth to protest that that was the last thing he needed, but she was already gone, and he groaned, leaning on the table for balance as the floor seemed to come up at him.

"Are you alright?" The mink leaned down in front of him, looking at his wavering focus.

"Yeah, just… dizzy and winded…" He replied, shaking his head yet again. Sadly it didn't help, blood didn't return to it and he felt his mental walls quickly crashing down.

She frowned. "You're lightheaded?" When he nodded, she sighed. "Maybe you overexerted yourself? I'm Mina, by the way." She offered a hand.

He managed to shake it. "Tyler. My lady friend is Erin."

There was movement on the edge of his wavering vision, and Mina was forced to step back, Chelsea suddenly standing in front of him and tilting his head to look at her. "Erin told me you're dizzy, mind if I take a look at you? I was a candy striper for years, I can make sure you're not facing a stroke or something serious…"

Peppy nodded dazedly, wondering if he had heard right about her being a candy stripper and what that was. Well it sounded entertaining at least, not that she was wearing much anyways. She leaned farther over him, fingers pressing into his neck for a pulse. He blinked owlishly, marveled at the beauty of a twenty year old body, and didn't feel himself hit the floor.

"For the record, this was not how I was planning on ending the night." Ian said drowsily, slouched in a waiting room chair.

"Oh trust me, I'm sure we all had other plans." Fox replied, showing remarkable ability to have coherent thought since Chelsea was perched in his lap.

"I am never driving your truck again. Ever. Not even if you bribe me." Natasha was in another one of the chairs, glaring at Slippy.

"Look, I said I was sorry! I should have warned you about him." Slippy replied, hands tossed above his head. "But what would you have suggested, we're like the only two here who haven't had anything to drink!"

"I am a wee bit pickled, yes." Reggie agreed.

"I could have driven his car." She replied, pointing at Reggie. "Ok, so I barely know him, but I wouldn't have had a stammering gravely male voice telling me to get the hell out of the cab!"

"Yeah, uh… he's grouchy."

"Another one of your Frankenstein computer projects, Slip?" Falco asked, slumped across two waiting room chairs. The group took up probably half the waiting room, the others sitting there were staring at the menagerie, clearly uncertain what to think. "Are you still trying to merge TV with real life?"

"I didn't have the heart to delete this one." Slippy replied honestly. "He grew on me, and he managed to run a driving instruction course without me riding along, so what could I do?"

"Wait, is THAT why I heard you scream before the rest of us clambered into that thing?" Erin asked, looking at Natasha.

"Yeah, once I told Mr. Spooky Disembodied Voice the situation, he shut up."

"His name is Max." Slippy inserted helpfully, and let himself be glared into silence by a still angry Natasha.

"Subject change. Chelsea, any idea what happened to Peppy?" Reggie asked. "Yes, I know I've already asked, but now you've had time to think."

She shook her head. "Before he went down, I saw responses on both sides of his body, so I have to assume not a stroke. I'm guessing it's linked to his psi thing."

"Hopefully the doctors will get back to us soon." Fox shrugged. "I hate hospitals."

Peppy sat on the edge of an examination table, shirtless and barefoot, a hand towel pressed against his nose in an attempt to stop the still-dripping blood. He'd woke up with a start in an ambulance with a gushing nosebleed, and was promptly informed by EMTs that if he gave them any idea he was having a psi talent episode, they would have no problem knocking him back out. He'd groggily accepted that, and spent the ride in confused and embarrassed silence.

Hospital trips were always strange for him, because hospitals had gotten into routines when dealing with any sort of psychic. Equipment was handled differently, different personnel was sent to deal with the patient, et cetera. And an almost consistent, a white noise broadcaster was in the room he was in. Supposedly they leveled out some psychics, but they mostly irritated him.

The doctor that had looked him over came back into the room. A no-nonsense younger guy with no tact whatsoever, he'd handed Peppy the towel for the nosebleed and lost no time putting him through the paces. Peppy had decided that for a doctor, he wasn't too bad. "Well, Mr. Hare, the results are in."

"Grand, what's wrong with me?" He replied, checking the towel and inhaling through his nose experimentally.

"Well, considering you have no history of this, and everything we've done to you so far came back showing you healthy, I'd like to make a personal call on this."

"Go right ahead, I can always ask for a second opinion."

"There isn't a damn thing wrong with you."

Peppy blinked at him. "You're suggesting I just randomly passed out."

"No, I'm suggesting you passed out for an understandable reason, and not one any of the professionals in this building can exactly treat." The doctor gave him a sarcastic smile. "Shall I continue, or would you like me to line you up for an MRI to prove I'm right anyway?"

"I don't feel like paying for that, go on."

"Ever heard the old adage about men having two heads and only enough blood to properly run one?"

He blinked. "I think I would have noticed…"

"And I think you didn't have time, and your little talent made the situation worse. Your brain performs an extra function, and probably is used to having more oxygen then that. Your blood moved, you got light headed, your delightful little doe friend sent you into overload. Boom, down to the floor." He chewed the back of his pen. "I might have to request funding for a study about getting psychics laid on a regular basis and seeing if that improves their mental balance."

"You're such a comedian, doc."

"I'm not the one that popped a nosebleed thanks to women."

Peppy gave him a look that could have withered plants, setting the towel aside and rubbing his no-longer-bleeding nose.

"That said, we have a few choices. You don't seem to have had a seizure, an aneurysm, or any sort of cardiac arrest. You claim you have no head pain, beyond a sore spot from where you hit a hard wood floor at a dance club. We can assume a fluke and send you home, hopefully to further rid yourself of this issue, OR we can put you through some expensive scans to see if there's anything worthy of concern between your ears. Your choice." The doctor folded his arms, holding the clipboard in one hand.

"How about we do the more expensive scans if it happens again and call it good until that point?" Peppy grunted, hefting himself off the table and standing.

"Works for me, I'll be glad to see you out of here, no offense. Sixth sense people make it really hard to run an ER."

"None taken, I'm used to it." Peppy pulled his clothes back on and laced back into his shoes, hurriedly leaving the room before some nurse showed up to try to cart him out in a wheelchair.

"Hey, man! Good to see you on your feet!" Fox gently displaced Chelsea from his lap and stood, striding over to join him. "What the hell happened?"

"I fainted, genius." Peppy made a face at him. "And I owe everyone an apology for that, I seem to have ruined the evening."

"Nah, I'm sure we'll get over it. And that wasn't what I meant. WHY did you faint?"

Peppy looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "You don't want to know. Can we get out of here, now?"

"Actually, I do want to know, being I'm your commanding officer." Fox gave him a look.

"No, no you don't."

"I also want to know what happened. And the mink gave me her business card, I'm supposed to call her and give her a heads-up on your condition." Erin said, walking over and giving him a hug.

He returned it, sighing. "You, I might tell."

"Oh, I see how it is." Fox pouted, following Peppy and Erin out of the ER, everyone else trailing behind.

"The doctors say nothing is wrong with me that they can tell. Does that satisfy you?"

"I suppose. Now how the hell are we going to arrange rides home?"

"Being this sidetracking is my fault, I'm willing to pay for cabs to get the more schnappered of us home safely, and rides tomorrow to retrieve your wayward vehicles." Peppy shrugged.

"Works for me. Now I say we find a brewery that's open late, it's not even midnight and I fully intend to see sunrise!" Reggie toasted in the general direction of east.

Falco burst into laughter.


	12. Chapter 12: Preparations and Explanation

_Author's Note: I made an error in the first chapter and I want to clarify it now. Erin is a ring-tailed cat, not a ring-tailed raccoon. Also, there's only a few more chapters to go, so don't worry, this DOES have an end!_

Chapter Twelve: Preparations and Explanations

Peppy sighed as he climbed out of his car, looking at the lineup as Slippy climbed out of Falco's NSX with some effort. Fox and Falco were still missing, their phones clicking to voicemail and ignoring any "You alive?" style pages. They'd left their keys with Peppy, though, and he'd recruited a tired but functional Slippy into helping retrieve wayward cars.

"For the record, that was very possibly the strangest night I've had in my existence." Slippy climbed up the front of his truck and sat lotus-style on the hood, hands palm-up on his knees. A derisive-sounding grumble escaped the truck's cab, and was ignored. "From a formal to a club to a hospital to how many bars?"

"I'm sure the general is cursing the existence of alcohol right about now." Peppy replied, leaning on his sedan. The Road Runner was back under its car blanket at his apartment building. "I imagine Falco and Fox aren't too much better. I've yet to figure out why no one carded them."

"Because people figured out who we are. Being famous apparently means you can get away with shit." Slippy shrugged.

"Trust me, I have a very strange hangover, and please tell me one of you has a handcuff key."

Both looked toward the docking ramp, which Fox had just straggled up. He was half-dressed, his jacket and shirt over his shoulder, and looked like warmed over hell. When they looked at him, he shrugged and held up both arms, showing that each wrist had handcuffs attached.

"I was about to ask if you got arrested, but the fact that there's two sets negates that." Peppy said slowly. Fox cackled and staggered over, leaning against Slippy's truck with a groan. "Kindly do not give us any details on the ending of your night."

"Or you'll do what?"

"Do not taunt happy fun hasn't-got-laid-since-dinosaurs-roamed person." Peppy replied with a snort.

"Well, I will say I made it out better then Chelsea did. Chelsea's got rope burns." Fox snickered weakly. Slippy tried to find something to say and it came out a stunned thread of cursing. "So. Does one of you have a key or do I have to spend the day shirtless? You know Falco will complain if he shows up and piercings are showing."

"I'll check my room." Peppy shook his head and headed to his quarters on the ship, where quite a bit of rummaging turned up a keyring that had one for handcuffs on it. When he returned, Fox was laying on his back on the hood of his car, staring at the ceiling, his arms sprawled out so the stray cuffs dangled off the sides of the car. "Wow. That's quite an interesting look."

"Mnuh. I take it your night wasn't so interesting."

"Depends how you look at it." Peppy replied, picking up one of Fox's arms and unlocking the cuffs off it. Fox didn't argue. "The interior of Erin's house is fully painted and I woke up with her using my back as a pillow, then she called that mink who danced with us and I've been roped into having breakfast with both of them at a later date."

Fox looked at him and blinked as he moved to the other side of the car, undoing the other bracelet. "I'm too hung over to figure that out. Her house is painted? What?"

Peppy smiled and shook his head, weighing the two sets of cuffs in his hands then holding them up to the light. "Well, holy crap. These are real police cuffs. These yours, or hers?"

"Huh? Oh, hers. My rope, though."

"You're a freak, you know that?" Slippy said, still reduced to a near-slackjaw gape.

"A freak who knows how to suspend girls in the air."

"And I thought I had interesting tastes. I'm keeping these." Peppy shoved them into one of the pockets of his cargo pants.

"Hey! I probably need to give those back." Fox attempted to sit up and slid off his car. "Ow."

"I'm sure she has more, and will find it hilarious that I have them. And either way, she can afford it." He turned his gaze to Slippy. "And you're one to call people freaks, I've seen you do the splits up a wall."

"Ow." Fox repeated, still on the ground.

"Years of yoga will do that to a person, and oddly makes it easier to work on cars occasionally." He shrugged. "Fox, do you need help?"

"Yes. And stop yelling."

Peppy rolled his eyes and retreated to his car. "Call me if Falco calls in dead or something, otherwise I'll assume he's fine. He always is."

"Will do."

Peppy was just exiting the space station's roadways when his cell phone went off, and after a few rings he figured out which cargo pocket it was in, juggling it up to his ears without looking at the display. "Yeah, speak."

"Well, aren't you in a delightful mood today." Tony sounded amused. "There's speculation about you guys on the news, so you know, since apparently you cut from some formal hooplah last night."

"Let them speculate. What's the occasion? It's not bowling or poker night."

"Oh, dear gods, and we both know I can't talk to you unless it's one of those special occasions. Actually this is somewhat official. We've got paperwork moving on your ladyfriend's stalker, and I need you to come by and fill out all the psychic related stuff. You're medically ID'ed as one, so as long as you have your ID and your dogtags the desk monkeys here should be ok with it."

"Come by? As in the police station?"

"Yeah, relax, it's not like you're being brought in for something. Just some paperwork and boring questions and you can continue on with your day."

"Eh, alright. I'm on the road right now, I'll be there shortly."

"Driving while talking on a cell phone? Shame on you."

"Oh, you're guilty as sin for this too. I'm out, see you soon."

Corneria City's main police station was a huge sprawling complex that covered probably half a city block if you included the parking complex attached to it. The original building had gone up in flames when the city had fallen under siege, and some starry-eyed philanthropist had donated a large amount of money to putting up a new building that was "more appropriate than the badly designed, overcrowded one of old."

Well, it certainly looked better, Peppy reasoned. Unfortunately it was also nearly impossible to get around in unless you had been there before. The building split in a seeming schizophrenic way into different wings that had become home to different departments of the police, and Tony had told him that it usually worked out that the departments that needed to talk the most were on other sides of the complex. Murphy's Law, Peppy had replied, and had only gotten lost three or four times before he got most of the main hallways figured out.

On the other hand, if a perp got loose, chances were they'd have plenty of time to catch the perp again before he or she figured out which way led to freedom. This had in fact happened. Several times. Somewhere, an architect was laughing his ass off while very drunk, which was probably the state he'd been in when the building was designed.

"Hey, Tyler, about time you got here." Tony took his feet off someone else's desk and sat up, shoving fur out of his eyes. "We were wondering if you were going to show up at all."

"I stopped for coffee, which I most certainly need." Peppy shook his head, taking a long draught off the huge logo-bearing cup he was carrying.

"So I've heard, though none of the 'news' agencies seem to know what happened. Give this to the boys though, we found it amusing." Tony shoved a newspaper across the desk to Peppy, who picked it up. It was from their arrival at the formal party, the picture mainly showing Fox giving Chelsea a hand out of his low-slung import. "Who the hell is that girl? I think Marcus has a crush on her now."

A nerf football flew from nowhere and slammed into the side of Tony's head, followed by an irritated voice saying "I do not." In the mass of desks, it was impossible to figure out where Marcus was, but apparently within hearing range.

Peppy snorted, folding the paper in half and tucking it under the arm carrying the coffee. "Her name is Chelsea, she works for the same model company Erin does. Sweet girl but god help us all, a little light below the rafters."

"Hey, that's the best kind." Tony snorted and stood. "Of course, I'm a chauvinistic ass, or so the hookers tell me. I imagine you don't want to spend the entire afternoon here, so let's get this show on the road." He led the way down the paths between the desks, eventually letting himself into an office. "Hey, Erika, Tyler Hare is here to fill out that paperwork."

"Did you see the sign I put on my door yesterday?" Erika didn't even look up from her computer screen.

Tony leaned and looked at the neatly hand-written sign taped up that requested people knock. "Oh. No I didn't."

Erika rolled her eyes and wove Tony out of the room. "Right. Well, step right up Mr. Hare, I've got some statements for you to sign."

Peppy sat down heavily, taking another drink of the coffee and watching her shuffle through the stack of folders on her desk. "Dare I ask what kind?"

"Just stating that you are in fact a psychic, are medically certified as one, and if someone were to check on that it would be confirmed by public record." She found what she was looking for and passed it to him, along with a pen. "The courts get antsy about psychics, so we do this early on so they can't complain quite as loud."

"Fair enough." He replied, scanning through the mass of legalese on each page and signing each, feeling rather lucky that they had made it this streamlined. When he'd wrecked the Roadrunner years ago, they'd sent him to three doctors, all of which had to independently confirm that yes, he was a psi talent and yes, he had apparently had an episode which combined with alcohol had led to the wreck. "I'm told the guy I turned over to Tony is already out, was a while ago."

She opened the file again. "According to this, we didn't have enough to hold him more than a few days, though this file's been flagged. He's acknowledged as a troublemaker, unfortunately, there are plenty of them in this city." She shrugged, accepting the paperwork back from him. "Hopefully, we can get this moving a bit faster and get him slapped with some kind of penalty. Tony said you talk to the girl this restraining order is about?"

"Yeah, actually. A good thing coming from a bad situation, I suppose."

"Well, tell her to be careful until this case finishes. I don't need anything else from you, you're welcome to take off."

"Have a good afternoon then." He hefted himself to his feet.

"You too, go get some more sleep."

"Highly unlikely…"

As if to prove his phrasing, Peppy's cell phone rang yet again when he got back out to his car. He groaned and leaned on the roof, unlocking the car so he could toss the newspaper in then answering. "Speak."

"Woof." Offered Panther's voice. "Though I guess I can't blame you for being grouchy. Rang in the sunrise, did you?"

"I am not in the mood, Alphonse. Nor will I be until I get some bloody sleep." He sat down in the driver's seat sideways, feet still on the parking complex pavement.

"Why, how much did you get you whiner?"

"Four or five hours. Maybe."

"Whiner."

"Just get to the point of this call before I hang up on you, jerk." Peppy shook his head, mustering half a smile. He was willing to bet Panther got about as much in the way of sleep, but Panther sounded strung out on espresso. Better then nicotine, he supposed.

"Actually this is concerning that car show. I said I'd get back to you guys in a few days, yeah it's been longer then that, but in our defense we've been kind of busy here. Point being, we have logo ideas and want opinions on them."

"Falco's MIA, Fox is hung over, and Slippy is as sleep deprived as I am." Peppy replied, pondering the cars parked in the garage. Cop car, cop car, expensive cop car, very expensive sportscar wearing pursuit paint job for some reason, hybrid wearing the same. And that was just in easy vision range. He had to wonder what they were telling the budget people over at City Hall.

"Leaving you, and we both know you'd be the one to make decent well-informed decisions anyways."

"Hah. You think these guys tell me anything?"

"Ok. Decent, mature decisions."

"Fair enough. It isn't my thing though, I mean I'm not into this label as far as they are. If I pick I'd be making a decision for something that isn't mine."

"How about you just come sort through and pick the ones you like best, and we'll give you copies to show the boys once they reach coherency?"

"Hn. That might work."

"I have coffee."

"I'll be there, I'll be there. I'm at police plaza right now, so it isn't that long of a drive."

"Oh, anything good in vice? If you pick me up something I'll pay you back."

"You're hilarious. See you soon."

Panther's building became trapped in a traffic snarl during the afternoons, so Peppy eventually parked in a complex a few blocks away and walked in. Summer was slowly starting to peter out, at least as far as temperature highs went, and the sidewalks were busy with people out jogging, shopping, or in situations much like Peppy was. Sidewalk cafes and coffee shops were packed, and Peppy found himself taking longer then was necessary to get to his destination, watching the ebb and flow of eye candy around him.

Eventually he strolled into the lobby of the building, where the two burly guys sitting there nodded at him. Panther was leaning against the desk, and smiled a bit when Peppy came in. "Took you long enough."

"Afternoon rush, you know how it is."

"I'm sure all the women taking the twins for a walk didn't help. I've had to lock up all the telescopic camera lenses."

"You know, I worked with Pigma Dengar, so you know it's bad when I have to inform you that you, sir, are a pig." Peppy snorted.

Panther laughed and led him away from reception, the pair ending up several stories up in a mass of desks. Here the people were slightly less bulky, but not by a whole lot. Peppy, in spite of his recently rediscovered muscle mass, was starting to feel anorexic in comparison. "There are actually two reasons this took so long. One, we had a spike in work, some of which you saw in progress. The other is I asked the guys that did these to do some research and see what constitutes typical logos in the car business, so we can blend in." Panther accepted a file folder from someone, leaning back on their desk and opening it. Peppy ended up leaning next to him, and wasn't surprised when someone appeared and offered him French-pressed coffee, then disappeared afterward. "Beyond that I gave them creative control, so some of these got kind of interesting."

Peppy watched the designs as Panther leafed through them. There was actually a variety of media used, he saw computer renders as well as hand-done designs, nearly every stylization represented. Eventually he took the folder from Panther and started pulling ones that spoke to him, ending up with a stack of ten or so. "Your boys are prolific."

"The coffee is free around here, as is the soda. For some reason computer people function better when caffeinated." Panther shrugged. "Speaking of my boys, they want to meet you."

"Spoken of me, have you?"

"In passing. Could be they want to meet you because you're the last man standing from the original Star Fox, or it could be because you're apparently dating a well-known underwear model. Odds are, the latter."

He snorted. "Tell them if they don't act like you, they might even get the time of day from such a woman."

Panther slugged him in the shoulder. "Rain check on the introduction then?"

"Yes, unless you think they really want to meet a sleep-deprived old man. I'll drop by again when the boys have made a decision on all these."

"Fair enough, see you later."

It was some hours later when Falco finally straggled back onto the Great Fox, following his nose to the galley, where Fox was half-dressed and making grilled cheese sandwiches. "What the hell is it with you and not wearing shirts?"

"Good afternoon to you too, sunshine." Fox snorted, picking up the pan and flipping the sandwiches somehow without sticking them to the metal ceiling. "And I just happen to be more comfortable this way. Hell, you're all very damn lucky I bother to wear pants."

"If you ever go nudist I will remove some of your anatomy." Falco grunted, sitting down at the table slowly and rubbing his eyes wearily. "One of those for me?"

"Not as such, but I can make you one. Ham or no ham?"

"Yes to ham. Who brought the cars back?"

"Peppy and Slippy did. Rode your motorcycle in?"

"Yeah, as unpleasant as that was."

"I take it someone owes me twenty bucks in that bet."

"No, because you specified 'back.'"

Fox stopped mid-motion and looked over his shoulder at Falco, both eyebrows going toward the ceiling. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not…"

"What the hell is it with you and Katt, anyways?"

"I like her but we're equally klutzy and that means I get accidentally hurt a lot. I'm fairly flexible but putting first aid cream on between my shoulderblades is a push."

"Start attending my yoga classes." Slippy's voice advised, the rest of him entering the room a few moments later, looking around Fox curiously at the state of the sandwiches.

"I keep forgetting you actually have a job." Fox served the two sandwiches to plates and passed one to Slippy, setting the other aside for himself and getting started on Falco's.

"Yeah, it's going to make me late to the car show too. Or at least I won't be there for the morning hours on the first day, which shouldn't matter too much."

"So Panther is sponsoring us?"

"Apparently. Peppy left me a voicemail, said he'd be by later with logo ideas he got from Panther. Panther wants our input apparently, even though it's his logo."

"His area of the world is gun-toting jarheads, not cars, and he knows it." Falco replied. "I still don't like this idea much, but I'll live with it."

"That's just because you don't like Panther." Slippy replied.

"What's to like?"

"His money?"

Fox gigglesnorted. "That was a wonderful mercenary style answer Slippy, you might be getting the hang of this."

"Hey, I figure if I work this right, I can get a dynamometer out of it."

"You didn't sleep with him?!"

Erin didn't even look up from her email. "You know you've been on this subject for what, three days now? Can't you give it a rest? Or at least come up with a new inquiry?"

Chelsea rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of the table next to her, or as well as she could dressed in PVC. "You are such a prude."

Erin made a mark on a piece of paper next to the keyboard she was using. "Say what you will, I still had a good night. I think he's trying to give me the reins."

"He hasn't been laid since I was twelve and he wants to do that?"

Erin looked at her. "I think that's precisely the reason he is, and I can't fault him. Can't say me being in charge will buy him much time though." She couldn't help but smile a bit. "Besides, we can't all be handcuffing boytoys to beds."

Chelsea pouted. "Who told you that?"

"Peppy did, he called briefly wanting to know if he left his dress shirt at my house, and informed me of the state Fox was in when he arrived back. How the hell did he get home? Peppy hasn't got a clue."

"Taxi, I think. Maybe? I was asleep."

"You're a class act." Erin rolled her eyes, standing and stretching languidly.

"Hey, it was his fault I was so burned out."

"I do not need a report on the sexual prowess of a war hero."

"Why not? We can compare notes!"

"I'm not even dignifying that with an answer."

There was a knock at the door, then it eased open, Drax sticking his head in to regard the two. "Erin? Someone's here to see you."

"Really, who?"

"Can't say I know her, but she says she knows you. Carolyn is already getting put out with her too, so you may not want to dally."

Carolyn was the retired model who ran reception most days, and unbeknownst to most, was a kick boxing medal winner in her younger years. Models from other companies or want to be models that were too bitchy quickly found themselves abruptly ejected from the premises, whether they liked it or not, usually not.

Chelsea, still sitting on the table, frowned a bit. "I'm curious but I shouldn't go with. I actually came in here to ask if I can hide in here to study. I have finals coming up, and if I don't get some studying in I am so totally boned."

"I thought that was your status as of three days ago." Erin grinned at her, heading for the door. "Go ahead hun."

"So correct, but I meant the bad kind, and thanks."

Drax walked with Erin toward reception, looking at her. "Fill me in on all this afterward?"

"Add me on to your coffee run this afternoon?"

"Done and done, the usual?"

"Yup." Erin rounded the corner, then stopped and blinked when she saw who was waiting in reception.

Celeste stood there, fidgeting nervously with her purse and looking at Carolyn, who was staring back with a less then impressed look. Compared to the others in the reception area, Celeste was older, a bit curvier, and much more expensively dressed. She was also out of place, and seemed to know it.

"Celeste?" Erin finally asked, walking over and leaning against Carolyn's desk. Carolyn gave her a relieved work and took that as a cue to return to her business. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, if you must know." She replied stiffly. "I looked you up online, and I simply MUST know what my ex-husband has done to deserve you."

"Oh, is that the way it is. Come on then, let's find a place to chat." Erin shook her head, turning and walking back down the hall. Celeste hurried to follow. "So, bitter much?"

"I will readily admit that the relationship between Tyler and I did not end well." Celeste sighed, brushing her hair back with one hand in a practiced motion. "He's a sweet man. Dutiful, tries hard. Also a freak, and unwilling to admit that he'd be better in other lines of work."

Erin glared at her over one shoulder, stepping into a break room. The others there, in various styles and states of dress, took one look at this paring and Erin's expression and made themselves quickly scarce once the door was clear. "He told me some about it."

"Tried to put it all on me, I'm sure."

"Well, what did he ever do to you besides try to give you what you wanted?" She poured two cups of coffee and passed one to her. "He at least didn't call you names when he explained it to me."

Celeste made a face. "There's name calling, and there's fact, sweetie. If I were to call you a body-baring camwhore, I'd be right, now wouldn't I? And you even get paid for it."

"Wow. It's like you WANT me to throw you out of the building and get you put on a list to not be let back in. Get to the point of your visit quick before I do so."

"I want to know what you see in him, and actually I wanted to warn you about him." Celeste took a cautious sip of the coffee, appraised it with a surprised look, then took a long drink of it.

"You hate him so much you want to warn me about him."

She was silent for several minutes. "I never hated him. I still love him."

"Then why the hell did you break his heart so bad, you bitch? You practically broke the man, abandoning him like that."

"I know."

"Then why did you do it?!"

She gnawed on her lower lip. "You know what he is, right? That he's got a sixth sense."

"Yeah. That's how I met him, kind of a long story."

"Did he bother explaining what happens when you get close to someone who can read minds and emotions and they aren't medicated?" When Erin shook her head, Celeste sighed. "The asshole. He should have been up front about that. That's the reason I wanted him to change jobs, so he could medicate."

"What? He thinks it was because you weren't satisfied with the cash from him being a mercenary."

"I admit, that was irritating at times. Unstable income. I'm sure you understand." She looked away, fiddling with a strand of hair. "But he doesn't medicate because if he does, he can't fly planes. He gets pretty, uh… 'stoned' might be a good word for it. He mellows out, he stops hearing other people in his head. But it dials down his reaction time, he's barely able to legally drive on it, no way would he survive combat. Even worse, the stuff that works on him can't be taken as needed. He couldn't just stop taking it for a mission, it'd take days to wash out of his system."

Erin blinked at her, feeling the anger start to ebb. "But why force him to medicate? From what I've seen, he's pretty controlled."

"'Pretty controlled.' So you've seen him have episodes."

"Yes."

"The closer he gets, the worse it's going to get." She held up a hand. "Before you ask why I'm the authority, remember how long I was with him. That's what happened when I dated him. It takes effort for him to keep up those walls in his head… and when he gets close to someone, the walls start to fall because he stops paying attention to them. Do you know how scary it is to suddenly hear someone else in your head and they don't even know they're doing it?"

Erin looked away. "I didn't realize it was that bad."

"It is, sweetie. And from what I've been told, almost every person who is sixth sense and doesn't medicate is like that."

Erin took a slow drink of her coffee. "But you stayed with him for quite some time. I don't see how you'd suddenly just give up for a constant factor."

"You won't understand."

"Try me."

"I never heard words from him. Just an emotional blitz. And I knew I didn't love him as much as he loved me, and I couldn't. I wasn't capable of it."

"So you just up and leave?"

"What else could I do? If I had brought it up to him, he'd have denied it and talked me out of leaving."

Erin stared at her, shocked.

"I know. Amazing isn't it? The bitch of an ex-wife, who shattered her ex-husband's heart and took his piano, is human after all and can admit the worst of weaknesses." Celeste smiled weakly, setting her empty mug down next to the coffee maker. "I still miss him. Sometimes. But I don't miss the overflow, the overwhelming … THING that he became sometimes. If he had been normal, I wouldn't have left him."

"But if he had been normal, would you have even dated him?"

She blinked, tilting her head. "I never thought of it quite that way. I don't know."

"Is Nate normal?"

"As they come. It isn't love, really, but we work well together. Support each other. He doesn't intrude on me." Seeing Erin's uncertainty, she sighed. "Don't take this as a reason to be afraid of him. Just take it as what it is, a warning. Tyler can be overwhelming without even realizing it."

Erin slowly lifted an eyebrow. "I could take that several ways."

Celeste snorted. "I meant it to be ambiguous. Now, fair is fair. What do you see in him? What is this 'long story' you mentioned?"

She sighed, giving up and taking a seat on one of the sofas. "I met him by chance. He and I go to the same gym, just apparently didn't notice each other until recently."

"I have a girl friend who insists that the gym is a great place to meet men." Celeste also sat, smoothing her skirt automatically.

"That's not exactly the way it worked out." She sighed, hesitating. "There's a younger man, a fan of mine I guess, who has been stalking me for ages. I finally got a restraining order pressed against him but of course that didn't work out. Peppy was going into the gym and flashed into my eyes as said stalker slapped me across the face. Luckily, I was in the parking lot at the time, and Peppy showed up moments after that happened." She blew hair out of her eyes, watching Celeste's expression change. "If he had been taking that medicine you keep mentioning, he wouldn't have known I was in danger, and I might have been…." She let her voice trail out, trying not to think about the possibilities. Probably raped, possibly killed, and knowing that her stalker was free to roam the city scared her.

Celeste sat there for a moment, regarding her. "Well, you're telling the truth as near as I can tell. And I have to say, that is amazingly lucky. Yeah, he's more able to pick up on strong emotions, but that he grabbed your mind in the middle of a city at that moment is nothing short of miraculous."

"Miracle or not, that's what happened. As for what I see in him, that's a list." She shrugged, mustering half a smile. "And I don't see how it would matter to you anyway. You're obviously set in your opinions, Celeste."

"I have my reasons."

"So do I. Now, I think I should show you out."

"… Alright then. I guess I should thank you for being willing to talk to me. By the way, did Tyler really teach you that move you did at the party?"

Erin grinned. "Yes. Yes he did."


	13. Chapter 13: Supercharger Heaven

Chapter Thirteen: Supercharger Heaven

            The day that the car show started dawned clear and cool, at least compared to how the hot season had been so far. Peppy considered it a godsend, but still got up early to get things arranged. Attire of the day was cargo shorts, sneakers, and a buttonup collared t-shirt (much like the style used for bowling) that had the StarFox racing logo on the back. On his head, an Air Force ballcap. The rest of the group was supposedly going to be similarly attired, though he wouldn't have bet the bank on it.

            He picked up the coolers he'd stocked and exited the apartment, locking the door behind him and going down to his Roadrunner. This, he mused, was probably going to be a minor nightmare. This particular car show was easily the biggest held on Corneria, if not the entire star system, because it was every kind of showable car rolled into one mass of humanity and machinery. Vintage, low riders, trucks, tuners, hot rods, the works. Only in very recent years had attendance began spiraling out of control, and he'd heard that this was the last year this was going to be a "combined" show because security was getting out of hand.

            Or it had been, it certainly wasn't anymore. Panther's group had bid on the job, and had informed Star Fox that everything was going to be under control for the three days of machinery worship. Falco wasn't pleased, but then, he never was when it came to Panther.

            This was going to be interesting…

            The car show itself was based around the city's largest sports center, and in the end the majority of a city block was shut down and cordoned off. The sports center building itself was being used for a variety of events (the schedule appeared packed), and the parking lots surrounding it were sprawled with a maze of cars and concession stands. Those in charge had made some attempt at arrangement, and in a perhaps interesting move had put the vintage cars between the tuners and the hot rods.

            This, of course, made Peppy the odd man out, as the boys were officially a tuning race label. Oh well, if anyone gave him trouble he'd rev the engine of his car and drown them, and their car, out.

            Even at ten in the morning, cars were streaming into the parking lots, and official looking people in shirts that cheerfully said STAFF in neon colors were trying to get everyone to the slots they'd been assigned. They triple checked the validity of his pass before reluctantly giving him directions through TunerCar Land, the snarly V8 rumbling as it idled past the ricer monstrosities, collecting stares and glares as he went. Happily, Fox and Falco were already at the lot and wove him in, getting up and doing a lot of gesticulating to get him properly in line with their cars.

            "Morning man, glad you made it." Falco said by way of greeting, dressed somewhat appropriately. "Didn't figure they'd let you in, pass or not. Slippy's caught at the gates."

            "In his truck? Oh dear lord, that will end well."

            "Tell us about it. We were taking bets on whether or not Max could stay shut up when we saw you pulling up." Fox replied. He was in his shirt, but was wearing Converse shoes, shorts decorated with skull studs, and all his piercings. He may as well have dressed for Gay Pride week, as bad as he stuck out. "But hell, they said we could park together so if they're having second thoughts, it's not our fault."

            "I agree." Peppy popped the trunk of his car. "Large cooler is drinks, mostly water and sports drinks, smaller cooler is snacks. Only for us or those close to us, anyone else can pay five bucks for a bottle of water for all I care."

            "Sounds good to me." Falco hopped up and sat on top of his car, feet propped on the hanging-open door. He'd already opened all the doors and the hood, in full-on display mode, which was new for him. He'd also had Slippy do some last minute adjustments last night, his car was now set up for quarter miles, not drift. "Ok, boss, what do we have going on today?"

            "We're not really in any of the events. Not yet, at least." Fox produced a program from somewhere in his complicated shorts. "There are some that we could be voted in for by officials, but I imagine there's some bribing going on there."

            "I'd be stunned if there wasn't." Peppy inserted, opening his car's hood and propping it, leaning for a moment to stare at the four speed V8 in all its naked glory.

            Fox looked at Peppy, then at his engine. "Heavy ass iron, lots of horses, slow to react."

            Peppy flipped him off. "That could be said about some parts of me, buddy boy."

            "ARGH! Way too much information!" Fox covered his ears.

            Falco laughed. "As opposed to your small ass, quick to respond, gets into tight spaces engine, Fox?"

            "Oh, you had better take that back…"

            "Mine can still crush yours in an endurance run, end of discussion." Peppy snorted and got himself a sports drink, the heat was already starting to roll off the black top and cement, even if this day was still cool yet.

            "Age does have its advantages. Of course, sometimes things just won't start…" Falco started, and got pegged with the unopened sports drink. "OW, fuck!"

            Fox became aware they were the center of an increasingly large interested audience, made up of those parked around them, which were peeking over their cars like prairie dogs. When he looked at them, they all ducked. "Ok, guys, we may want to turn down the innuendos juuuust a little here."

            "Yeah, like their conversations are wholesome." Falco replied, opening the sports drink. "The difference is, they've probably figured out who we are."

            "Thrilling. Just what I need, leeches."

            Peppy shook his head and, hearing a massive shift in volume, turned his head back toward the path he'd driven in on. A crowd was walking along with a tall truck he recognized, and after a few minutes he could see Slippy walking backwards, making come-forward gestures to his truck, which obeyed. The crowd was apparently intrigued, as the truck wasn't tinted: it was quite obvious no one was driving. Slippy himself stuck out more than Fox did, because he was still in his gym gear: fitted tank top, loose yoga pants, and tennis shoes. "Oh boy, here we go. I guess he finally got in."

            "Ok, that is just stupid. Showing off the Engine-by-Arspace and weird hydraulics, along with all that other weird crap he's done, fine. But showing off that he packed an AI into a truck? That has to be breaking a law somewhere." Falco sniveled.

            Slippy stopped by them and made park-here gestures, and the truck pulled past the spot then backed into it agilely, hydraulics settling to bring the truck low to the ground and more in profile with the rest of the cars. "Hi, guys. Sorry about that. Wouldn't even have gotten in if some of Panther's guys hadn't recognized me." As he was saying this, the trucks' doors opened by themselves, then the center-open hood slammed open, showing off what may have originally have been an eight cylinder engine but now better resembled modern art. The small crowd that stood at a respectful distance boggled. "The jerks at the gate all thought it was a work truck in case something broke down, and they didn't want to budge on that opinion."

            "Figures. Do you really think showing off the automated stuff is wise, though?" Falco demanded. "Seriously, man, for being smart you have no common sense."

            "Well, it IS one of the better modifications on this thing, Falco. He passed the driving test alone, he's fine." Slippy dismissed the concerns. "Besides, everything on this is street legal, I double checked."

            "Mostly because they haven't thought to outlaw it yet, right?" Peppy smiled, and got a wicked grin in return. "Yeah, that's what I thought." The truck took this as a moment to start randomly playing Yakety Sax.

            "What can I say, after building a tank, I couldn't do anything quite normal. You're lucky that your car doesn't have buttons for smoke and caltrops."

            "I'd pay extra for that." Falco offered.

            "Right. Give me a hand, I have your display placards in the truck bed."

            This surprised everyone else, and even more so when said placards turned out to be professionally made pieces that Slippy had apparently designed and had done out of pocket.  It made for a nice touch in the midst of all the arubahah, Peppy supposed, especially since Max the Insane Truck kept playing Yakety Sax for about ten minutes straight, then abruptly switched to Italian opera.

            "I thought you were running late today because of your yoga class." Peppy eventually remarked, sitting on the roof of Fox's car. The car's stiff suspension failed to notice.

            "Oh, that was amazing actually, the entire class and the gym agreed to meet early so I could get here at a reasonable hour." Slippy grinned, crouched in the bed of the truck and going through what he'd brought with him. He wasn't here to work, but he'd brought a large array of tools, and the truck had an air compressor that was mainly for the horn but could run air tools for smaller jobs. He had no doubt he'd have to use them, if he got out of this show without wrenching on something he was going to practically die of shock.

            "Wow, they must like you."

            "They seem to, though the new class members always take a little bit to get used to me. I'm not what most people think would be a yoga instructor. Too bulky, I guess." Slippy shrugged, expressive given that he was more or less a shortpacked muscular torso with limbs.

            "Can't help your ancestry." Peppy snorted.

            "Right."

            "I still don't think it's a pastime for guys, but whatever, you get paid to do it." Falco said, taking a drink from the sportsdrink Peppy had hit him with and wishing halfheartedly that it was a beer. The crowd had finally decided that the eccentric four were harmless and had wandered closer, looking at the placards and circling the cars. Falco and Fox's cars were just-painted (something they'd wrung out of Panther's sponsorship money) and appropriately stickered, so they were attracting some minor attention. "You know, much as I liked the idea of doing this, I have no idea what we're going to do throughout this show. Do we need to babysit our cars? If so, I'll be bored to tears within an hour."

            "I'll do that, you guys take off." Slippy replied, closing up his tool cases and strapping them back down, leaning automatically when his truck abruptly shifted the hydraulics to lean drastically toward the left. It was a game they played: if the truck could dislodge him, he had to let it go drive around alone for half an hour per time dislodged. The last time the truck had won, it'd come back soaking wet and muddy, from a drive downtown. Slippy suspected there was a duck pond somewhere in desperate need of repair, and either way, he'd gotten better at this game.

            "Right on." Falco saluted Slippy with the sportsdrink and disappeared into the crowd, walking along the line of cars at a meander.

            "I'm going to talk to the guys and see if there's anything planned for tonight." Fox said, climbing out of his driver's seat and half-glaring at Peppy, who got down.

            "You have the schedule."

            "Not what I'm talking about."

            Now it was Peppy's turn to glare. "No illegal racing and no gambling. If I find out about either, it's coming out of your tattooed ass, are we clear?"

            "Yes, dad." Fox punctuated this with an eyeroll and didn't so much disappear as was absorbed into a crowd of people that knew him, somehow.

            "Go look at your musclecars, Peppy, I've got this handled." Slippy hopped out of the truck bed and closed the tailgate.

            "You sure?"

            "Yes. Shoo, this is one of the things I do damn near as well as Fox flies."

            Peppy nodded once and wandered off into the crowd, walling up his mind as tight as he could as he strolled with the crowd, eyes taking in the tuners as he passed them. The owners that were there to babysit their vehicles looked bored as hell, they obviously weren't here for this. It was a wide variety of vehicles, and he found himself standing with an amused expression on his face in front of some kind of economy car that looked like a bubble but had suffered some massive modifications. Ah, the ever-present motivation of car enthusiasts: they have money and nothing better to do then produce crossbred mutant vehicles.

            To shove this point nicely home, the slot next to the mutant bubble ecobox had been empty, but as he watched a squat silver car pulled into it and parked. Peppy jiggled his ears to make sure the constant background engine drone hadn't got to him, and such was not the case, the ugly recognizable silver thing was making the pissed-bumble-bee noise that meant rotary engine. After chugging idle for a few minutes, the engine stopped with a noise that Peppy would have figured for annoyed if it had been an AI, and the driver's door gull winged open to reveal a scrawny male vulpine about half Peppy's age, dressed mostly in denim. Just to cap it off, the car had a vanity plate that said QUICK AG, which Peppy filed for later figuring out.

            Peppy spoke without thinking. "Oh, come on."

            The vulpine started and whacked his head on the open door. "Oi! What?" This was sputtered as he shoved the door closed.

            "All that steel and you shove in a damn rice burner motor. You could have gone bored-out straight six or V6, or just a turbocharged four, but no, you just had to go with a rice burner motor." Peppy sounded disgusted, but he pretty much was. Nearby car owners were staring at him with not-pleased expressions, clearly not happy with his utter disapproval of an entire engine design. "In a bloody DeLorean. What the hell were you thinking?"

            The vulpine blinked at him once, his eyes didn't match, one green and one blue. "Uh, I wasn't the only one in on this, this was a school project. We decided that the rotary was the best compromise between horsepower and weight, even if we had to go far and wide to find parts and commandeer a fab shop." He peered at Peppy and got the light of recognition in his eyes briefly; Peppy caught a thought train that was something like 'Is that…? Naaaah.' "Besides, either way it's better then that POS French engine it came with."

            "Ok, that I'll concede."

            "I think you would have approved of what we did to said French engine. The collateral damage done to the parking lot got security called on us."

            Now Peppy was grinning. "Ok, you win, sorry for the hostility."

            "No offense taken. Are you… Peppy Hare?"

            Peppy quirked an eyebrow a bit, sizing up the skinny kid again. "That depends on who's asking."

            "Friend of mine told me you humiliated the Pit Vipers in a race a while back, if that's the case then it's an honor to meet you."

            Now he had to laugh, offering a hand forward. "Your friend is well informed, I just dusted them off a streetlight start. You are?"

            "Takeshi Hauptmann, resident hacker, Corneria City College." Takeshi took his hand and shook it cheerfully. Meanwhile, a random someone clambered out of the Delorean's passenger seat, staring intently at a laptop screen for a while longer before closing it and getting the car opened up for display.

            "A hacker? I should pawn you off on Slippy then because you'll get a much more scintillating conversation."

            "Slippy? THE Slippy? The one who programmed that self-driving truck? Man, there is illicit footage of that thing all over the programming message boards, and he is not answering emails on how he did it."

            "There's another Slippy? If that's the case, gods help us all. Come on." Peppy snorted and doubled-back down the line of cars, using the height of the truck as his target. Slippy had shrugged his racing shirt on over his gym gear and was talking to about four people at once while waving a socket wrench, Peppy couldn't get a word of the conversation. Max the Insane Truck was now playing Daft Punk at roughly a hundred decibels, and in the process managed to fit right in with the tuner crowd. "Slippy, fellow geek Takeshi, Takeshi, the guy who welds tanks for fun."

            Takeshi had the expression of one who may have found nirvana by sheer accident, looking at Slippy then at the truck. The truck continued playing Technologic at deafening volumes. "It's an honor. Is that the self-driving truck?" The music abruptly stopped and some soccer mom nearby yelped as the Max battened the hatches and lowered closer to the ground with the air of a definite funk.

            Slippy turned and set his hands on his hips. "OI! That is not the attitude of someone who will get let off the leash later, you ungrateful patchwork of welding joints!"

            Takeshi blinked once, then looked at Slippy. "What's the deal? Is he in the middle stages of rampancy or something?"

            In spite of not moving, starting, or doing anything visible to the human eye, Max the truck's presence got downright vexed. Peppy wondered briefly if he was somehow telepathically picking up on the AI and figured that was probably impossible.

            Slippy's reply was weary. "To be blunt, he's an uninhibited AI."

            "That's actually quite impressive. Hope I can pull that off someday."

            "Says the man who hasn't figured out the obvious downside." Slippy turned back to Max and put his hands on his hips. A small crowd had gathered again at a respectful distance to watch the geeks yell at the truck. Someone offered Peppy oil-popped popcorn. "Max, if you don't snap out of it I'm putting you on cinder blocks." He wove the socket wrench in a vaguely menacing manner at the truck, which could have been a normal car for all Max reacted.

            "Is he programmed in INTERCAL? That's the only language I know of that would have obnoxiousness built in." Takeshi sounded bewildered.

            "ROB won't allow INTERCAL on board the Great Fox. Something about 'not tolerating such rubbish.' I almost agreed." Slippy sighed. "As for this monstrosity, he started out as an open-ended self-teaching program, I didn't think it was anything impressive until I hit "Run" and he found the internet connection thirty seconds later. He learned fast."

            Takeshi facepalmed. "Roight."

            "I think I can fix this." Peppy offered. Everyone looked at him, Slippy made a go-ahead gesture. "Max, open back up or I have you disabled, towed, and painted bubblegum pink."

            The truck's doors and hood opened back up, though its lower profile remained.

            "You're welcome. Now, I'm going to go look at someone else's cars for a change." Peppy started to turn around, and blinked in shock.

            Erin grinned up at him, Natasha next to her. "Hi. Would you like company on your machine ogling tour?"

            "Of course." Peppy offered an arm, Erin took it, and they walked off. Natasha, meanwhile, wandered over to where Slippy, Takeshi, and Max were. Max lifted up a foot on his hydraulics, Slippy had an I-will-have-a-coronary expression. Takeshi saw this and started to ask what was going on before he saw Natasha, doing a massive double-take and looking damn near hypnotized as she started talking to a calming-down Slippy. "What brings you lovely ladies here, anyways?"

            Erin snorted, walking with him easily. She was wearing shorts, a tank top, and tennis shoes, and was still turning heads. Though the head turning may have been at the sheer oddness of their pairing. "I remembered all the discussion about this show and it's been massively advertised for weeks on the radio now. Nat and I have the day off, so we decided to stop by."

            "Chelsea didn't come eh?"

            "She said she'd find her own way here. If she hasn't found Fox and drug him somewhere for celebratory I-passed-my-tests boinking, I'm stunned."

            Peppy cackled. "That much closer to being a nurse, eh?"

            "Actually, she's apparently a certified nurse's assistant now. Oh, and thanks to you she wants to work in geriatrics." Erin smiled apologetically. "Though she was quick to add on that she didn't think that YOU were geriatric, mind, she just thinks older guys need some love."

            Peppy facepalmed. "Your boss is going to milk this for a photo shoot, isn't he?"

            "Chelsea in scrubs? Someone would pay for it." Erin paused, looking at a stylishly slouched lowrider. They were slowly wandering away from the long lines of cars and toward the vendors and stages.

            "Actually, you should get Fox to rope master for a photo shoot." Peppy said thoughtfully, looking at the reflection of a chromed undercarriage and wondering what the point of THAT gaudiness was.

            "Rope master?" Erin lifted her eyebrows at him as they moved on. "Chelsea mentioned something about rope burns but didn't exactly… elaborate."

            "Argh, ok, short version. Fox is a kinky bastard, and I blame his father. His major kink is something called shibari, which is Oriental rope bondage. It doesn't affect his main life or his job, so I don't care, but yeah, there you go." Peppy shrugged. "The thing is, shibari can be really artsy if you photograph it right, and from what I've seen of Chelsea she's freakishly flexible…"

            Erin pondered while Peppy looked at a rack of after-market shocks and struts. "I can see where you're going with that, you old pervert. Nick would love the idea, I'll pass it on. He's always looking for new "artsy" ideas so he can dodge the cranky ladies that picket our building because they think we make porn."

            "Some people need to lighten up."

            "No kidding."

            "Hey! Peppy, right?" A new voice squealed happily.

            Peppy didn't have time to turn around, another set of arms tossing around him eagerly from behind, ending up around his neck instead of his shoulders. He gagged in protest and ducked out of the hold, turning to look at the new arrival as Erin did. "Mina?"

            She grinned and nodded, brushing her hair back. She was dressed in an itty-bitty outfit emblazoned with an aftermarket company's logos. "I wasn't expecting to see you guys here! You never did call me about lunch." She pouted, though it was clearly forced.

            "Eh, my schedule has been kind of packed recently." Peppy admitted. "You work for an aftermarket company? I'd have figured for a lawyer or something."

            "Advertising according to her business card." Erin said, smiling and exchanging a warm handshake with Mina. She hadn't been crazy about how close Mina had danced with them, but the mink's concern for Peppy had been real, and that had made an impression on Erin.

            "Yup, advertising, but today I am a booth babe." She set her hands on her hips and put her shoulders back. "Am I pulling it off?"

            Peppy just blinked down at her, rendered effectively speechless.

            "That's a yes." Erin managed not to laugh. "What's your company make?"

            "Shiny expensive car crack for automotive geeks, in various flavors. Exhaust, mostly, and turbocharging." She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at a display. "You guys look lost."

            "We're doing what most people do at these things: wandering about aimlessly." Peppy finally said, having found his voice with effort. "I mean, even having seen a schedule I don't know what's going on."

            "Oh, Zack would know that." She drug them over to her product booth. "Zack, these guys are friends, would you give them the condensed version of what's going on?"

            "Oh, did the schedule mess them up too?" Zack, who had been showing some piece of an exhaust system to someone random, shoved it at the random person and turned toward them. He was a lion with a mostly buzzed mane, and what was left of said mane was neon blue. "God, that was the worst publication EVER… hey, you two are familiar."

            "We get that a lot." Erin said, straight-faced.

            "… Right. Well, there's a variety of arena events but it's mostly like low-rider competitions and shit like that. Out here, there's some bikini contests coming up, lots of dealer crap too. Honestly, if you're into imports or tuner cars, you'll want to go get a nap and come back tonight."

            Erin took a copy of the schedule out of her pocket and looked at it. "The events end at ten."

            "The official crap, yeah, but at ten-thirty tonight the tuner crowd will be out in force. Guaranteed."

            "Thanks, I'll pass it along to my friends, though I'm sure they know." Peppy looked toward at Mina. "We'll have lunch soon, I swear it."

            "I'll hold you two to that."

            He turned to Erin. "Want to go look at girls in bikinis that you'd beat anyday?"

            "Sure, but I might heckle them."

            "Heckle away."

            Fox had retreated from the gaggle of people he knew and was half asleep in the driver's seat of his car, ignoring the noise of the crowds and the occasional people tapping on the glass when the door opened and Chelsea sat on his lap. He had the seat all the way back and down, and for that, he was briefly thankful. "OOF! Hi, there." He finally said, not moving and looking at her, grinning in spite of himself. "You look happy."

            "I passed my tests!"

            "Awesome, officially a CNA eh?" He ruffled her still-curly hair affectionately. He could hear catcalls outside the car, and ignored them for now.

            "Yeah. What are you doing in here? You're missing everything!"

            "Nah, this is just stuff I'm not interested in, but I don't want to leave my car here. Figured I'd nap."

            "Move over!"

            He obediently scooted about and she flopped half on top of him, half next to him. He sighed and wrapped both arms around her, setting his chin on top of her head and dozing back off, smiling.

            "My god, if this keeps up I'm not going to fit in anything tomorrow." Erin said this in a muffled tone as she attempted to remember how to eat a corndog.

            Peppy, who was eating a funnelcake for lack of ability to eat most of such foods, snorted. "And everyone with a set of balls would celebrate and yell appreciative comments about your suddenly more apparent curves."

            She lifted an eyebrow at him, more surprised then taken aback. "You think I'm too skinny?"

            "Borderline. I certainly wouldn't complain if you put on ten pounds in a reasonably healthy manner."

            "This…" She pointed at the corndog. "Is not a reasonably healthy manner."

            "Yeah, like this is." He held up the funnelcake. "So seriously, what brought you here? You don't seem like the car show type."

            "Eh, I admit it, I like pretty things." She leaned on him, looking out over an array of vintage cars. "That, and I wanted to tell you face to face that I won't be available for a while, starting in two days."

            He looked down at her, free arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer in spite of the heat. "Really? Why?"

            "Massive photoshoot for fall fashions. I have no idea how long I'll be gone, and I can't skip it because it's so much income." She sighed. "I hate these shoots, they're always grueling, but what can I do."

            "I understand, babe." He stared out over the cars, thinking. "Tell you what. Give me a spare key to your house and tell the neighbors I'll be around, and I'll water your plants for you. And when you know the date you'll be coming back, let me know and a hot meal and massage will be waiting."

            Erin looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

            "Yup. I will spoil the hell out of you."

            "That sounds amazing… what a great thing to come home to. Sure."

            The day of the car show passed by in a blur, mostly boiling down to what Falco summed up as "people walking around." Fox and Falco spent time dozing in their cars on and off, letting Slippy field the questions and commentary of spectators, including some show officials who insisted that Max was, in fact, a low rider.

            Peppy and Erin eventually left and came back, watching the last show wind down and cars start leaving the lot. Though cars could be left overnight, many of the older people were electing not to, and Peppy stood on top of his roadrunner and watched different parts of the huge lot empty out. The vintage cars went first, then most of the hotrods, along with some of the older low riders and a lot of trucks. By dark, about half the cars had emptied from the show area for safer park zones, some merely going up the street to parking garages.

            "Ok, what's going on?" Peppy finally asked, hopping off his car and walking over to Fox, who had racing gloves on.

            "You'll see. Nothing extremely illegal, don't worry."

            He lifted his eyebrows. "So it's moderately illegal?"

            Falco snorted. "Sort of. The street they've blocked off from traffic that's on approach to here is long enough for quarter miles, and since no one's parking on the street there's going to be head to head runs on it."

            "I am so getting in on that."

            "You'll get creamed on that short of sprint, man."

            "Yeah, but at least a big piston engine will be weighing in on the equation. What else?"

            "The usual Import show stuff."

            "Right." Peppy sat on the hood of his car next to Erin, who was sprawled on it in a pose that he could only describe as jumpable. "Are you comfortable?"

            "I want to use your car for a photoshoot in the future."

            "Done, but I demand to be there when it happens."

            Fox smothered a fit of laughter.

            "Slippy, I require your attention." Max's voice cut through the voice surrounding them, and in fact quieted some of it, curious heads popping up over the tops of cars.

            Slippy, who had been sitting on the ground talking to Natasha and Takeshi, stood and walked over. "What's up?"

            "I've been monitoring the crowds since I parked here, and I've discovered a bit of an anomaly, the same individual always staying a certain distance back. He does not seem to be here for us, though, because he parallels Peppy's movements."

            Peppy blinked. "What? Who is he?"

            "If I knew who this person was, I would have said a name instead of 'individual.'" Max's voice was even more sour than usual. "Younger, male. Badger."

            Erin sat straight up, tail stiff out behind her and fluffed. "What?"

            "You heard me."

            Erin slowly slid over on the car hood, huddling behind Peppy's back, hands curling into the back of his shirt. Peppy didn't move, but he understood the implications. "We can leave if you want." He said this quietly, over his shoulder.

            "No. Just.. stay with me, ok?"

            "I'm not going anywhere." Peppy stared out at the crowd, daring the man who could be her harasser to make himself known.

            "Wait, what did we just miss?" Fox asked.

            "Ok, I told you how Erin and I met? It's possible this guy Max is talking about is the guy whose thumb I dislocated."

            "If he shows up, point him out. I'll give him a nice warm .44 caliber welcome." Falco offered.

            Erin managed a laugh, but didn't move from huddling behind Peppy.

To be concluded…


	14. Chapter 14: Shrimp and Scumbags

Chapter Fourteen: Shrimp and Scumbags

            Peppy sighed, scratching the back of his neck and staring at the contents of his walk-in closet moodily. After nearly four weeks of being gone for a photo shoot, Erin was coming home, and was due to be home in time for an early dinner. Peppy had long known what he was going to cook, but had run into two issues. First, he wanted to buy her a gift, and was sorely puzzled about what to buy a woman who could get anything she wanted. Second, he had no idea what to wear.

            This was an issue that had only recently come up. He had dressed much differently in the days before his marriage, it was one of the reasons Celeste had been drawn to him in fact. Of course, she had insisted that stop within a year of their marriage. She didn't like anyone else looking at him and wanted him to tone it down, so a lot of his clothing had gone into storage containers with cedar blocks. He'd refused to throw any of it out, even the worn concert shirts and battered buckle boots. Even now, the storage containers were stacked along the floor of the closet under the hanging clothes, and he had no idea if any of it would fit him.

            At first, he'd just planned on dressing simply. Black slacks, white button-down, polished combat boots. He'd looked at himself in the mirror, seen a waiter, and nearly torn the shirt getting it off.

            Dammit, why was his self image giving him such a problem?

            Because he was no longer an overweight divorcee, the incurable bachelor who'd contented himself with taking care of his dead friend's son. That image was shedding out, and the person he'd been before was clawing his way out into the light again. The problem is, he wasn't entirely sure who that person was anymore.

            He sighed and left the bedroom, going to his wall phone and dialing from memory, leaning one shoulder on the wall and listening to it ring. Six rings in, Fox picked up, sounding cheerful. "Hey Peppy, what's up?"

            "I need your opinion on something."

            "Sure, shoot."

            "It's on fashion."

            "Oh. Let me hand you to Chelsea." There were the complicated sounds of a phone being passed over, and a muffled conversation, and then Chelsea's voice came on. "Hey, Peppy! What's this about clothing?"

            "Well basically, does an early-forties guy have any restrictions on what he's wearing?"

            She was silent for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "Are you asking me if you can get away with not dressing your age?"

            "Uh. Basically."

            "Hell, no. You're old enough to tell people to shut the hell up if they don't like it. I'd say dress for your body, not your age, and you aren't overweight anymore. Show it off."

            Peppy felt himself grin. "Is this your professional opinion?"

            "As a model, yes, yes it is." She replied firmly. "Anything else?"

            "Nope. That's it. Thank you."

            "No problem. Oh, quick thing…" She dropped her voice. "What should I get Fox for his birthday? He's, like, so hard to shop for."

            Peppy grunted. "So's Erin, so I sympathize. I guess it depends on how much money you want to spend. If cash isn't an issue, take him to an auto parts store and turn him loose."

            "I, um. That isn't exactly the kind of present I'm hoping to pull off." Chelsea sounded rightly sheepish.

            "OH. Well in that case, I know there's a weaver downtown who could set you up with something."

            "A weaver? Like, a custom clothes person?"

            "I've been led to believe he takes custom orders, and that he doesn't just do custom cloth and clothing."

            A pause. "Oh. I see. Thank you. Good luck with the clothing." And with that Chelsea hung up, evidently off to plot something.

            Peppy smiled and shook his head, hanging up the old corded phone and retreating to his bedroom. There, he set his hands on his hips and glared at the clothing in his closet briefly before stepping in and grabbing the storage containers, pulling them out and opening the top one. The smell of cedar assaulted his nose, mixed with still-clean cloth and leather.

            Well, hell. Why not?

            One problem down.

            Erin staggered out of the taxi, collecting her duffel bag from the back and passing the driver enough cash to cover the fare and then some before turning to regard her house. The lawn was green and short, the flowers were tended to, and Peppy's huge old Roadrunner was taking up most of the driveway. She smiled in spite of herself, making her way across the lawn and letting herself into her house.

            Here, too, Peppy had apparently made use of his permission to be there. Walls were fully painted, furniture dusted, and the smell of baking hit her full force. Her stomach growled feebly as she dropped her bag, stepping out of her sandals. "Peppy?"

            "In the kitchen." He called back.

            She hurried in that direction, stopping at the kitchen table. Roses sat in a vase, and a jewelry box sat in front of it. She picked it up curiously, turning toward the kitchen. "What's… this?!" Her voice stepped up an octave, surprised.

            Peppy was standing at the counter, preparing giant shrimp at a cutting board. He was in a fitted muscle top, combat boots, and a kilt. Of all damn things, a black jean kilt. Erin was speechless, realizing that his gym trips had given him some excellent muscular legs. Peppy seemed not to notice, looking at her with a smile. "Welcome home."

            "Uh. Thanks." She stepped over, pondering his alternative to pants. "Um?"

            "Shoes." He replied, smile morphing into a grin.

            "What?"

            "What does one wear under a kilt? Shoes." He replied patiently, setting the shrimp down and fully facing her, pulling her into a hug. "It's good to see you…" He trailed out, one hand stroking down her spine before put her to arm's length and gave her a disapproving look. "You lost weight."

            "I know. The caterers never served real food. I had to nearly beat the crap out of them before they started bringing something extra for me and the few other girls that actually ate, and even then." She sighed, pouting. "Is it that obvious?"

            "I just don't like being able to feel your bones that way." He turned back to the shrimp, pulling her in so she leaned on his side. "I see you found the jewelry box."

            "Yes, what is it?"

            "Most women would open it to find out." He observed, amused. "You're hard to shop for, you know. It took some time to find that."

            "What's the occasion?"

            He shrugged, setting the shrimp aside and started unraveling pancetta. "I missed you. Does there need to be any reason?"

            This earned him a smile, and she finally caved in and opened the box. Inside was a set of French wire earrings, ending in little butterflies that matched her necklace. The inner lid of the box was graced with an artist's mark, the same artist that made her necklace. She gaped, touching the little butterflies with one finger. "Where did you find this?"

            "A rather exclusive jewelry shop downtown. I used to be a good customer there, some years ago, and the shop owner remembered me. He was eager to help me on a personal search, had to make half a dozen phone calls to find those. Apparently the artist hasn't done any jewelry in years because of arthritis. I lucked out." He smiled, feeling a glad warmth rush him at her expression.

            She reached up and took out her gold hoop earrings, setting them on the counter and taking out the French wires, putting them in and looking at him. "How do I look?"

            "Like a jewelry set was finally completed. You look great."

            She laughed and pitched her arms around him, planting a happy kiss on him. He laughed and returned it, lifting her off the ground easily and keeping her there when the kiss ended. "How can I repay you?"

            "Don't, my motives aren't necessarily the best." He smiled a bit and set her down.

            "Oh really? Since when?"

            "Since ever, I'm a guy, remember?"

            "Very funny. I'll make you expand on that later. What are you cooking?"

            "Herb stuffed shrimp over a salad."

            "I just started drooling. Make an extra serving or I may eat yours."

            He lifted an eyebrow. "This is all for you. I can't eat meat, remember?"

            She flushed. "Oh. Right. So what will you be eating?"

            "The salad. Possibly you."

            She shrieked and shoved at him. "What's gotten into you?"

            Peppy laughed as a reply, moving on to start the salad. Erin eventually went and sat at the table, moving a chair so she could sit watching him. Much like when he'd stir fried for her, his moves were neat and certain, cleaning up as he went.

            "You took cooking classes after your divorce, right?"

            "Yeah. I needed to eat and I needed something to do. It made sense at the time, even if I ended up overweight for years." He shook his head, gesturing at his current build with a salad serving utensil. "And now it seems that this is where I'm going to be for a while. Went back to the doctor, and he told me I don't need to lose any more weight."

            "I agree with him. I like the way you're built. It's strong."

            "Heavier then I was once upon a time though, even if it's muscle. I guess I can deal with it though." He stepped over to the stove, turning it on and pouring olive oil into a pan. "As for you, I think I'd like to go on a cooking blitz. Pack your fridge with leftovers so you don't have an excuse."

            "I'd be willing to pay for such a service." Erin grinned.

            "Hey, with me it's free. Though as said, my motives…"

            "… Are apparently questionable. Which makes me very, very curious."

            He looked over his shoulder and slowly lifted an eyebrow. She wasn't sure why, but she felt her hackles come on end. "Are you, now?" His voice was deceptively mild as he pulled the cutting board across the counter, cheerfully loading shrimp into the pan. This done, he started tossing the salad.

            She lifted an eyebrow back. "Careful, buster, I can fight fire with fire. And I'll win."

            "That sounds curiously like a challenge."

            Erin flipped her hair back and stood, padding across the tile floor to stand behind him, one finger idly trailing up and down the back of his neck. He froze up, hands in midair still holding the salad utensils. "Not really, a challenge kind of falls flat when I have all the cards." This said, she ran the finger down the length of his spine, grinning when this sparked a shudder and a loud purr.

            "I wouldn't say you have all the cards." His voice was soft, a bit jittery from the fact that he was talking around the purr, stepping back over to the pan to flip the stuffed shrimp over.

            She shrugged, moving to lean against the counter. "Would you just tell me these alleged motives already?"

            "Alleged? Have you been watching those court case shows on TV?"

            "TYLER!"

            He gave up the humor and sighed to himself, looking at her. "Honestly, I'd like to stay the night."

            "Why the secrecy, then? You've slept here before…"

            "That… isn't what I'm asking for."

            There was a long silence, during which Peppy finished with the shrimp and loaded up serving platters, bringing them to the already set table. Erin helped, feeling a bit of the blush creep back. Eight years since his divorce, no real relationships since then, and he was practically walking on eggshells here, a very timid invitation.

            But hell, who was she kidding?

            "Did you plan this?" She finally asked, watching him open a bottle of wine.

            "Honestly? Yeah, I did."

            "Then I have to assume you brought an overnight bag."

            This got a smile. "Yeah. In the car."

            "Good, you're going to need it." She grinned at him, sitting down.

            Peppy smiled a touch apprehensively, and poured the drinks.

            Erin sighed and rolled over, nestling against Peppy, her tail flicking to wrap over his legs. He smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist and turning his head to nuzzle at her, a rumbly purr starting anew in his chest. He did that a lot around her, he realized. It was nice to not be frowned upon for it.

            She propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him, other arm resting on his chest. His smile back was lazy, and she laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "You seem relaxed."

            "Mmmhn. You, on the other hand, seem wired."

            Erin laughed gleefully and rolled on top of him, hands braced on his chest, leaning down so she was nose to nose with him. He grinned, a bit surprised, hands settling on her bare waist. "Yeah, I guess I am. What are you going to do about it, hmm?"

            "Give me a few minutes." He snickered helplessly, mentally shoving things around and trying to build a better wall. The layer of psychic protection was hard to hold up, and being with someone like this made it damn near impossible. Something about the feel of someone else's skin and heartbeat punched through it like a wrecking ball.

            And dammit, he didn't want to scare her away. She was amazingly accepting, had taken his job and his friends fairly in stride, but a psychic of any kind that had forgone control was a different experience entirely… and it had scared Celeste, once upon a time. But even as he thought about, Erin moved against him playfully and he felt his resolve crack.

            Erin stilled and stared down at him when his face fell and his eyes closed, his body tensing. "Tyler?"

            "Not you, babe." He opened his eyes, mustering a smile.

            "Well, what then?" Seeing his discomfort, she sighed and leaned down again, staring into his eyes. "Your ESP?" This got her a nod. "Did you flash?"

            "No…"

            She frowned at him. "Damn it. You're trying to keep your walls up."

            He blinked at her, resolve forgotten in confusion. "Yeah…"

            "Don't." When he started to protest, she lifted a hand and set a finger to his lips. "You trust me, right? Don't say anything, just nod." He did. "You know what I did during the downtime on that horrid modeling shoot? I got ahold of a laptop and did research. You don't scare me. You can't scare me away."

            "You don't know that." He replied weakly.

            "I find your lack of faith in me insulting." She shook her head, combing her tangled hair out of her eyes with her fingers, the butterfly earrings catching the light. "I want to understand, and I can't unless you show me."

            "True, I guess…"

            "I'm not Celeste."

            He blinked at her.

            She leaned in, staring into his eyes. "Let the walls drop and let me in. I am not going to freak out. I promise."

            He stared back, then grinned and shoved upwards into a hungry kiss, hands sliding up her back. She mumbled in surprise, then trailed into a content moan, returning it, shifting back as he sat up and pulled her in, the blanket falling.

            The mental wall didn't fall at once. He'd spent too many years building it and rebuilding it, turning it into a mental labyrinth, trying to imprison his sixth sense. Few with a sixth sense enjoyed it; it was almost always hard to control. Those that didn't medicate themselves into mentally quiet stupors ended up like he did, keeping as much as he could at arm's length. But without him constantly putting it back up, it slowly cracked and crumbled, falling under the rush of what he could only sum up as _Erin__._

            Then she cried his name, the sort of faint shuddery cry that sent a shock down his spine with bare want, and his mental walls crashed down, and he crashed out.

            Erin jerked in surprise, feeling the difference immediately, like a tidal wave of warmth, a summer wind of the mind. It blew through her, dashing any hanging-around worries or concerns, replacing it with bare emotion and physicality. For a few seconds, she had body confusion, having to work out which set of nerves were hers, and he seemed to shift until her perception cleared a bit, yowling when a backlog of sensation hit her. She hadn't been let in, she'd let him out.

            Well, she thought as she got a slow handle on this, on the blurred edges and the clamor of emotions rattling her that were not hers, passion and affection and desperation twisting into a desperate wordless cry of _please accept me_. I can work with this, she decided, and kissed him until the mental cry died out, replaced by senseless heat. I can definitely work with this.

            And quite some time later when she was dozing off, he was still there, holding her close, his mind a flicker of contentment in the back of hers, both smiling.

            _"Leave him be!"_

_            "Oh, hell no. He's going to regret he ever meddled in my affairs, babe…"_

_            PAIN!_

Peppy gasped, eyes flying open, tensing but otherwise lying still as shreds of the dream fluttered through his mind. No, not a dream, a flash, barely a flash, Erin's voice full of pain and desperation, then another male voice…

            He froze, ears pricking and slowly rotating, taking stock of his surroundings. Erin's room, early morning, pre dawn maybe? He could hear her breathing behind him, still asleep. Then a faint creak echoed in the hallway, the noise like a rifle shot to his sensitive ears, the realization like a slap to the face.

            _There was someone else in the house._

            Instinct fought training, and training won, making himself not growl, sliding as silently as he could from the bed and padding over to stand at the wall the door was on, assessing the situation. The bed could be seen from the doorway, but now he wasn't immediately visible. He was unarmed, and bare, but from the standpoint of unarmed combat that was almost better. He was totally unrestricted, and even as he thought that, the wicked curved claws on his feet unsheathed and dug into the floor.

            But, he was also outnumbered. Standing there pressed against the wall, he counted footsteps and other breathing sounds. They were trying to be quiet and half failing, breathing fast and a bit shuddery. Nervous, perhaps. Best guess he had was that there were three uninvited guests in Erin's house at an ungodly hour of the morning.

            He sidled along the wall until he was pressed against it near the door, mind racing. Priorities. Erin's health was more important than his. Protect her, protect the house. Those were priorities the deeply-ingrained instincts could support, defend one's mate and one's territory. The floor creaked again, just feet from the door, and he held his breath, biting back rage.

            _You stupid, stupid assholes._

            Erin shifted and rolled in bed, the blanket slouching, rolling into the warm spot he left and sprawling on her stomach with a sigh. He made himself not stare, but the three intruders that could now see the bed stilled, watching this. Urgent whispering broke out, basically all of which he heard, matching up one of the voices to the one in the flash. Said jerkwad was almost numb with excitement, staring in at Erin and an impossibly inviting bed, and his companions were uncomfortable, pointing out that they hadn't seen Peppy yet. Apparently unconcerned with that, the leader stepped forward, and Peppy saw a badger nose come past the threshold of the door.

            _Big mistake, pal._

            The badger never saw it coming. All he knew was that one moment he was staring at a woman he wanted so badly, and the next moment blinding pain seared through his nerves, his nose gushing blood. He bellowed in pain, stumbling backwards in confusion, not realizing he'd just taken a very well placed elbow to the muzzle. Eyes watering and confused, the appearance of Peppy's enraged form in the doorway barely startled him.

            The intruder's roar of pain woke up Erin, who had the good sense to scream about a second and a half after she did so and realized something was completely wrong. The noise hit Peppy and drove him into the hallway, assessing the situation. Weapons seen, a crowbar and a knife. Stay out of the way, move fast. He followed the badger as he staggered back, following up with as hard a blow as he could manage to the enemy's solar plexus, then ducking and sweeping low, the crowbar whistling over his head as he landed a heavy shot to the badger's knee. He heard something snap, the badger screamed in pain, and Peppy moved to the next intruder.

            The other two were about the same age as the badger, about the same build too-overmuscled but without the sense to know how to use it right, no efficiency. A canid of some kind, light colored fur, and a stag. The canid had the knife, it was an old combat knife, and Peppy dodged backwards down the hallway as it swiped the air, the two young men coming toward him. Erin's panicked shouting rang the air, calling his name and causing the two young men to hesitate for a split second. They didn't want to be here, their manners said, but you just badly messed up our friend.

            Too bad, Peppy decided, dodging forward and left, body dropping as his leg came up, vicious feline toe claws ripping the air. The impact caught the stag straight to the jaw, the claws tearing long bloody lines up his cheek. The stag staggered backwards, tripping over the prone but awake form of the badger, and Peppy pivoted on his toes, coming out of the crouch in a furious lunge, turning the knife away. The sharp blade grazed along his upper arm, he ignored the sting of pain, hands wrapping around the canid's lower arm and turning, bringing the canid's elbow down on his shoulder with all his might. The arm bent with a sickening crack and a howl of pain that was punctuated as he released the arm and spun, other elbow coming around and landing a hard headblow.

            Then it was silent beyond whimpers of pain, standing in the barely lit hallway, hands curled into fists and staring at the three men who had dared mess up his perfect night. The canid was prone, elbow shattered, the stag was sitting on the floor with his hands up, the badger sitting with both hands cradling his torn out knee.

            "Peppy?" Erin's voice took on a desperate pitch from the bedroom.

            "I'm ok babe." He replied, shaking out his hands. "You have a phone in there?"

            "Yeah. What happened?"

            "Grab the phone and dial emergencies, tell them there are intruders in your house but they are currently incapacitated. We need cops, and an ambulance."

            There were a few moments of quiet punctuated by the whisper of cloth, then Erin appeared in the doorway wearing his muscleshirt, gaping slack-jawed at the trio of injured men lying in her hallway. "Omigod. Omigod."

            "Next week, I'm buying you a gun." Peppy replied. "And I'll teach you how to use it. Now please make that phone call." He looked down at himself. "…and if you could please get me a pair of shorts out of my bag, I'd be most thankful."

            "So would we." The stag grumbled.

            Peppy fixed him with a withering glare. "You shitheads have no room to talk. What in all hells possessed you to try to sneak up on a psychic? Brilliant plan, breaking and entering, planned assault probably and god knows what else." He shook his head, focusing his gaze on the badger, who had shifted to sit up against the wall, in too much pain to try to stand. "Get dropped on your head as a child?"

            "Piss off, old man."

            Peppy moved without thinking, foot lashing forward and resting on the badger's throat, putting pressure on until he saw panic form. "I can kill you right now and I wouldn't even get a slap on the wrist. Corneria City has defend-the-castle laws, or didn't you know?" Seeing understanding in the badger's eyes, he dropped the leg. "You made an attempt on my life boys, and more importantly, you were here with intent to hurt her." He nodded toward the bedroom, where he could hear Erin dialing a phone then talking, voice rushed and scared.

            "I wouldn't have hurt her!" The badger protested.

            "Because an asshole that comes into a woman's house in the middle of the night while armed is the greatest of gentlemen." He replied, voice acidic. "She made it clear she didn't want you near her. I suggest you make sure you serve time for this so I can't find you." He looked at the stag, who was silent, hands folded in his lap, placidly bleeding on the carpet from the slashes on his face. "How'd he convince you and your buddy to come along on this little trainwreck?"

            The stag shrugged. "He's my friend, you dishonored him, and I've had like three shots of whiskey." The badger gave him a displeased look.

            "Right. Well understand if you try to run, I will be forced to stop you."

            "Um. No, I'm going to sit right here." Seeing the badger glare, the stag glared back. "Fuck you, man, you didn't tell me he was a professional asskicker."

            Peppy rolled his eyes and picked his way past them, stepping into the bedroom. Only then did he let a breath hiss out, looking at the cut on his arm. Surface wound, probably barely warranted stitches, but bleeding like anything. He looked around for his duffel bag briefly, and Erin tossed him the kilt. He swirled it on and did up the buttons, stepping over to her when she beckoned him over. "They want to talk to me?"

            "Yeah. I… I don't really know what's going on."

            He sighed and brushed a hand down her cheek, then pulled her to his chest, taking the phone. The inquiring voice of emergency dispatch rang in his ears, and he answered questions automatically, swaying with Erin against him. In the hallway there was derisive muttering, but he mostly ignored it. The police were on the way, which meant that this was going to be a very long night.

            Erin sighed, pulling coffee mugs out of her kitchen cabinet and lining them up on a tray. Elsewhere in the house voices were heard, cops and EMTs, coming in and out of the propped-open front door. It wasn't even four in the morning, and the neighborhood was awake, her neighbors coming out to see what was going on and greeted with four cop cars and two ambulances parked in front of her house, all with lights going. And a bit further down the street were news vans, waiting to catch someone to interrogate.

            All in all, it was a strange and stressful morning she thought sourly, filling all the coffee mugs and starting another pot, then picking up the tray and picking her way through the house. She was still in Peppy's muscle shirt, though she'd also put on some boyshort undies, and while comfortable she also felt extremely vulnerable. Her stalker had broken into her house.

            And Tyler had beat the ever-loving snot out of him.

            Unable to hide the grin, she offered the contents of the tray to a younger cop who was standing in the hallway, watching the EMTs transfer her stalker to a stretcher. The cop smiled at her, surprised, and picked up one of the clunky square stoneware mugs, cradling it between his hands.

            "Probably be a while before we're out of your house, ma'am."

            "It's ok. Trust me, I'm glad you guys are here." She stepped back, watching the stretcher go by, the badger very carefully not looking at her. "So what's going to happen?"

            "Well, two are going to ER because of damaged joints, one is being bandaged and going to jail. We're talking to Mr. Hare right now about what happened. You say you missed it all?"

            "The yelling of the fight woke me up. I didn't actually look in the hallway until it was done."

            He nodded, taking a drink of the coffee. "You're lucky he was here. You may want to get an alarm system put in, Ms. Mai."

            She nodded, moving on down the hallway and unloading coffee on the other cops there, then moving to her front door. The two ambulances were parked in front of her house, one of the cop cars parked by Peppy's roadrunner and partway on her lawn in the process. The other cop cars had parked in front of neighbor's houses, and on the perimeter she could see her neighbors in robes or pajamas, drinking coffee and watching curiously, pointedly ignoring the press for the most part. She huffed and stepped onto the walk, padding barefoot over to the cop car on the lawn, offering coffee to the officer there and Peppy, who was sitting on the hood of the cop car. "Bit of a circus."

            Peppy nodded agreement, picking up one of the mugs thankfully. "I guess two cop cars were dispatched but they picked up two others along the way."

            "Yeah, that's about the size of things." The cop admitted, also taking one of the mugs and downing half in a gulp. He was older than Peppy, a slightly scarred, slightly gutty bulldog. "You're sure you're ok, ma'am?"

            "I'm fine. I missed everything." She offered the tray to two younger cops who came up, who cheerfully helped themselves and wandered back to what they were doing. "So what's going to happen?" She knew she was repeating herself, but oh well.

            "Well, your stalker has a record, so he's probably going to be locked down until trial unless he can find someone who will bond him out. His buddies, we're not so sure yet." The cop finished the coffee and plonked the empty back onto her tray. "We'll probably be here another hour. You'll have to come down to the station in the next few days to do some paperwork for us, same with your friend here."

            "Alright. What should we tell the press?"

            The bulldog smiled at her. "I were you, baby, I wouldn't tell'em nothing. A member of StarFox sleeping over at a model's house then kicking intruder ass while nude? That will never get off the news."

            Peppy cleared his throat.

            "Er, not that it's any of my business of course."

            Erin just grinned.

            The sun was up by the time the house was quiet again.

            Erin yawned and scrubbed her eyes, staggering from the bathroom and finding Peppy in the kitchen, calmly rinsing out the coffee mugs and loading them into the dishwasher. "Well, aren't you Mr. Domestic."

            "Old habits die hard." He smiled, closing the dishwasher. "You know I was thinking, what would your boss say if I added a gun safety lecture to the self defense lessons? Give everyone a run down on basic gun operation, maybe rent some vans and cart everyone over to a gun range I know about afterwards."

            Erin stared at him, then laughed, pulling him into a hug. "I think that's an excellent idea, but it won't be happening today, hero. Now, come on, I need to sleep but I have coffee to work off first."

            Peppy snickered, and let himself be drug from the kitchen, much more content with life.

Thank you everyone for your patience with the slow updates of this story. Just an epilogue left to go!


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

            Peppy leaned on the wall, watching a complicated move take place. A week ago, Nate had gotten ahold of him and told him after much cajoling and some jewelry, Celeste was letting the baby grand go, which did indeed have a StarFox logo on the soundboard. And furthermore, he'd pay some professional piano movers to ferry it over and put it back in tune.

            Peppy had hung up from that phone call, looked around the apartment, and realized just how empty and stripped it remained. That startling epiphany had produced a several hour trip to a local hardware store, and now the walls were newly painted brilliant blue, the empty nails removed and the pictures he had rearranged. He'd gotten some stuff framed that he'd been meaning to for years, and gotten the carpet cleaned. In a way, it was like healing the last of an old wound.

            Nate was standing off to one side, having gotten a cup of coffee off him, joking with the piano movers. They'd had to move some of his furniture and think about it a while, but now the bulk of the small glossy-white piano was in the room, another mover following with the lid. Erin was sitting at his kitchen table, watching all this curiously. She'd insisted on being present when the piano got moved back.

            The lid back on the piano, the movers dusted off their gloves and looked at him, waiting. Peppy shrugged and stepped forward, gesturing toward the empty space where the piano had sat. They nodded and shifted it into place, spinning until they had it oriented the way he wanted it, one splitting off and returning with the matching bench and the tools needed to tune a piano.

            "Sit down, eh, I need someone to play it while I get it back in shape."

            "Alright." He moved around and sat at the piano, living the key cover up and smiling. "Well, at least someone's been keeping it clean."

            "Celeste pays a housekeeper to come through and dust and such once a week." Nate replied. "I still have no idea why she was so upset at the idea of returning it to you."

            Peppy shrugged, watching the mover prop the lid on the piano and turn some sort of handheld on. "You move them and tune them, eh?"

            The man, an older tabby, grinned at him. "Easier that way. I'm a member of the piano tuner's guild believe it or not." He eyed the strings. "And this hasn't been done in a long time."

            "Probably eight years."

            "Sad. Alright, give me some scales, let's see how bad it is. What temperament do you want the scale tuned to?"

            "Circular, please." Peppy started playing scales, ears folding back as the instrument basically howled, different notes falling strongly sharp or flat, going up the keys until the tuner wove at him to stop and went to work. Much adjustment later, this procedure repeated, and a few rounds later was down to single key adjustment, both watching the handheld's readouts. In the background, the rest of the movers helped themselves to coffee and bullshitted with Nate, who had of all things brought a guitar case and small amplifier up from his car, setting up near the piano and tuning the guitar.

            Eventually the piano tuner shut off the handheld and cheerfully shook Peppy's hand, backing off to stand with the rest of the movers and have the last of the coffee. Realizing everyone was looking at him expectantly, Peppy sighed and cracked his knuckles. "It's been a while."

            "Oh please. Just play." Erin replied, grinning.

            He half smiled at her, settled his hands to the keys, and startled them all when he jumped into a song, eyes closed, fingers working up and down the keys from memory. It had been one of his favorite tunes years ago, a very lovely but very complicated melody, and he was pleased to find he remembered it all.

            The song lasted a little over three minutes, and was applauded cheerfully by the piano movers, who accepted their check from Nate and let themselves out, off to haul something else.

            "Well, that was very classical. What was it?" Erin asked, tilting her head.

            "The Heart asks Pleasure First by Nyman." He smiled and sighed, patting the piano. "It's nice to have this back."

            "Trust me when I say it's better for you to have it. As said, I shall keep to guitars." Nate grinned, fingers tapping the strings. "Know any rock?"

            "Piano and guitar… how about 'I Would do Anything for Love' by Meatloaf?"

            "I know it but we need a lady to sing along as well." He looked at Erin.

            Erin stared back, looked at Peppy, then shook her head. "Uh-uh. No. I can't sing."

            "You couldn't dance, either. Come on, I'll play the notes you need." He replied.

            "Oh, fine. Do you have sheet music?"

_Fin_

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This concludes a nearly three year journey, perhaps the longest it's ever taken me to write a fanfiction. Thank you for your patience and your readership, and I hope you liked it.


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